


All Aboard To Camp Kill Me Now (Revised)

by Fourfivesix



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anger Issues Bruce Banner, Bad First Meetings, Carol Danvers is a Good Bro, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Italian Tony Stark, Kid Tony Stark, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Protective Stephen Strange, Slow Burn, Snarky Tony Stark, Stephen Strange is a jerk at first, Stephen Strange is also young and angry, Teasing, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has curly hair, Tony Stark is oblivious, Tony Stark is young and angry, Tony Stark-centric, Young Love, Young Tony Stark, Young stephen strange, kind of, young avengers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-01-31 19:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourfivesix/pseuds/Fourfivesix
Summary: Revision of the og All Aboard To Camp Kill Me Now. I didn’t like the way it was going, so here we areSummary:Tony Stark is sent to summer camp by his ass of a father.Now he has to spend eleven weeks with a bunch of strangers.With no desire to make friends, let alone get along with anyone, Tony begins his summer of hell.But maybe people want to be friends with him anyways. Not all of them, though.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Tony Stark, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark & Avengers Team, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 126
Kudos: 359





	1. Oh look, a moron

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to everyone. If you read my last version, I apologize for leaving you like that. I got a severe writers block but i think I know what I want now. 
> 
> So I hope you like this (hopefully) better version!

> “Howard—dad—please just let me stay home!” 

  
  


“_Enough_. You’re going. Now get in the car.” 

•|• 

Tony pulls at the strings of his ripped jeans, head rocking against the window as the car drove over bumps. Highway to Hell drifted from his earbuds almost ironically, so much in fact that Tony rips the earbuds out of his phone to stop it completely. Music doesn’t seem right anymore. 

  
  


The next two and a half months of his life is going to be his own living hell, no matter how much Aunt Peggy promises he’ll have fun and ‘make real friendships’. Real friends. Real friends? Was she high when she said that? As if Tony needs anyone other than Rhodey and Pepper. Their friendships keeps him from kicking his own bucket and he’s sure no pathetic wannabe boyscout could ever hold a candle to them. And it isn’t even as if Aunt Peggy is coming to this _shithole_. She’s spending her summer in her beautiful New York suite. 

“Watch it!” Tony hisses after his father (purposely, he knows it) hits a particularly deep pothole and his head whacks against the reinforced glass. He could at least _try_ to avoid the holes. 

Grounding his teeth, Howard sends him a vicious smile from the rear view mirror. “Oh, I apologize profusely, Tony.” 

Jarvis gives the teen a concerned look from the same mirror, ever the worried second father figure. 

Tony, with a sigh, slumps back in his seat and closes his eyes. “Shove it, asshole.” 

“Language,” Jarvis scolds with no heat behind it. Tony can feel the two adults eyes on him and he squares his jaw. 

Hopefully everyone would just leave him alone and let him be. Not going to happen, obviously, but a boy can dream. Maybe Pepper and Rhodey can sign up late or something once they both get back from vacation with their families. 

“Why couldn’t Mama come?” Tony asks no one in particular after a few more minutes of silence other than tires over nature worn pavement. 

Jarvis quickly starts with “Your mother—“ but he can’t finish before he’s cut off by Howard. 

“She’s busy. We already talked about this when you threw a tantrum about getting in the damn car.” 

Busy. That’s code for Howard didn’t want her to come, because she would argue in favor of Tony staying home. And if an emergency with one of her most famous fundraisers hadn’t conveniently popped up earlier this morning, Howard wouldn’t be driving Tony to camp right now. 

“She should be here and have a voice in this.” 

Howard grinds his teeth and takes a moment to find the truth in a lie. “The decision for you to go to camp was already decided it would be the best for you weeks ago.” He says, sounding tired. 

Tony has that effect on people. Especially Howard. Nearly every conversation they have, they disagree and it ends in an argument with one of the Jarvis’ or Mama having to extinguish the bonfire before it becomes a forest fire. It’s a problem. They should probably get therapy. 

“Weeks ago?” Tony asks, opening his eyes. 

“Yes, weeks ago. We had a long talk.” Howard confirms tensely. 

“We? Who’s we?” 

“Boys, stop.” Jarvis demands sternly. 

There is only be one other person that Tony can think of who would want him gone for the summer, and that person’s name starts with O and ends with H. 

“No—let him answer the question! Who is we? You and Obie?” 

Howard tightens his grip, jaw clenching. It’s obvious he hoped Tony would be too upset to catch on to who he was talking about. He underestimated his sons intelligence, which sort of hurt, but too bad the genius genes don’t skip a generation, Howard. 

His father takes a deep breath in. After a pause, he says “There is no need for this conversation right now.” and Tony can’t stop his scoff. 

“Then when will we have it? You always do this—you always say ‘not right now, this isn’t the time, Tony blah blah blah’ but when will you have a real conversation with me? I’m your fucking son, the hier to your multi million dollar company, and all you do is treat me like a child! I could be a better business partner than Obie! I could make Stark Industries into a multi _billion_ dollar company! But you choose a scumbag instead of me!” Tony punches the seat below him and squeezes his eyes closed. “Why don’t you love me? _What did I do wrong_?!” 

Howard doesn’t answer. Jarvis reaches back and grabs Tony’s hand, gently rubbing his thumb across Tony’s palm in circular motions. 

The car ride is now silent except for Tony’s ragged breathing. 

•|•

“We’re here.” Howard says quietly, but it sounds loud in the mute car. 

“Good. Come along, Young Anthony.” 

•|• 

Jarvis walks Tony up to a decently large log cabin that must be the front office/cabin/whatever. His hand is delicately placed between his two shoulder blades, probably to keep Tony from running. Howard walks about six feet in front of them and for some reason knows where he’s going. 

He wonders what the press is going to say once they realize Tony is gone. Military camp? A secluded vacation somewhere? He gives them three days before a tweet saying ‘where’s tony stark?’ goes trending. He isn’t even exaggerating, either. For whatever reason people want to know where he is. Strangers care more than his own father. 

Howard holds the door for them and they go up some stairs, down a hall, and into a large open window office that looks very principal like. Howard and Tony take the two seats on the other side of a large, empty ebony desk. 

“Why are you standing?” Tony looks up at Jarvis, who is standing beside him, with furrowed eyebrows. The man simply gives him a smile and ruffles Tony’s car-messy curls he never bothered to comb back when he got out. 

The office door opens and an intimidating man with an eyepatch comes in, giving the three a guilty smile. “I apologize for my tardiness. Apparently some of the campers decided turning on the projector in the mess hall and watching a movie instead of participating in their afternoon activity was okay.” 

That sounds interesting. Maybe there are a couple of entertaining people here after all that could keep Tony not bored to all hell. They might even like his ideas for chaos. He has _very_ good ideas. 

“That’s alright, we were somewhat late ourselves.” Howard smiles back and stands to shake the mans hand. “Howard Stark. This is my dear friend and another of Tony’s guardians, Edwin Jarvis.” 

“Nick Fury. Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark, Mr Jarvis.” 

The adults exchange pleasantries, silently and swiftly beginning to speak about the camp, what Fury does, whatever. Things like that Tony has no interest in, so directs his attention to the large desk again. There are a couple desk toys like a half solved rubix cube, Newton’s cradle, and one of those kinetic energy sculptures Pepper loves. There are also a few stress toys that he can see on one of the shelves behind the desk, next to a large pile of documents. Nick Fury must need entertainment too. Or everything is styled in a way to be more personable and relate to whoever comes in. 

Bored, he reaches for the rubix cube. He scrambles it some more for a better challenge. The adults talk and talk and Tony solves the cube twenty times or more when they finally sit at the desk. 

“Ah, you found my rubix cube. I haven’t been able to solve it quite yet.” Nick Fury says as the three men settle down. Jarvis seems to have found a chair, too. 

Howard watches Tony from the corner of his eye, daring him to say anything disrespectful. So he does. 

“Well, it _was_ right in front of me. Pretty easy to spot with youraverage two eyes.” Tony looks up at Fury with a defiant glare. 

Both of his guardians turn their heads to look at him at his remark. He can _feel_ Howard’s anger radiating off of him like heat. 

It throws Tony off when the man’s lips tilt into a tiny smirk. “Insulting a man who’ll be in charge of your ass before you know his name. Very brave.” 

“I do know your name. It’s ‘Nick’ Fury, but that’s not the limit to what I know about you. Summer jobs sure are fun, aren’t they?” 

Fury squints his one eye. “Hm. It didn’t appear that you even heard the conversation we were having.” 

Tony twists the cube twice to complete the blue side. “How long will this go on for? It’s boring.” 

  
  


Jarvis clears his throat and smiles at Fury. “I apologize for his impolite behavior. It was a very long car ride up.” He says, ever the mediator. 

Fury waves his hand in dismissal. “I’ve met much worse kids than him. He’s actually very similar to one currently in camp now, one of the harder kids to open up to socializing and getting along with his peers.” 

Tony holds back on rolling his eyes, but still scoffs. Just because Fury has met someone like him, doesn’t mean he’ll ‘get through’ to him and make him all happy loving life, la la land bullshit. He’d rather drink piss than hear any more of this bullshit. 

“Excuse us.” Howard stands and smiles apologetically. “We need to have a talk outside.” 

A large hand grips his collar and pulls him up to stand. Tony doesn’t break eye contact because he was taught to not show fear in the eyes of a challenge. Howard is strong and trained, though, and Tony isn’t sure he could take him. 

“No the fuck we don’t.” 

“Yes, we do.” Howard says sternly, not looking away from Tony. He let’s go of his son and Tony stumbles slightly. 

Fury and Jarvis both rise, too. 

This isn’t an uncommon occurrence, Tony and Howard fighting. Usually there’s someone to stop them, like Jarvis or Maria, but more often than not they really can’t stop the two. It sucks because neither of them is one to back down from a fight. Stubbornness ends up with one of them (Tony) feeling like shit after. They don’t hate each other, but apparently fighting is apart of their relationship. Surprisingly enough, it IS getting better. They fight less often as long as neither of them has had a shit day or Howard decides to send Tony to summer camp. 

“My behavior is understandable considering the circumstances I’ve been placed in.” Tony curls his lip. 

“You are being immature. You’ll only be at this camp for eleven weeks.”

Eleven weeks is way too long. He bites his cheek and drops back into the seat. Jarvis puts a gentle hand on top of his messy curls in gratitude before following in his footsteps to sit. 

“I’m sorry.” Tony gives Howard and Fury his most convincing apologetic tone and smile. 

“Let’s continue on with this meeting.” Fury clears his throat with a slight awkwardness. Everyone gets restless when they see Howard even just a fraction mad. He’s a scary fucking dude. 

•|• 

Jarvis kisses Tony’s head and ruffles his head with a ‘be good, I will visit as soon as a can’ before leaving. Howard just nods. 

Tony is left with Nick Fury while Howard and Jarvis unpack his things. 

“Here is all the information you’ll need. One of the councilors should be here to pick you up soon. Her name is Carol Danvers.” Fury says with a half smile as he hands Tony a packet. 

•|• 

Carol Danvers reminds Tony of Pepper. Who reminds him of his mom, but (no offense) couldn’t ever hold a candle to Maria Carbonell-Stark. No one could. Carol is warm but cold, a little mischievous but still serious at the same time. Intelligent from what Tony can see. She has potential to be apretty successful business woman, though he can imagine her as a captain of some sorts too. 

She takes him from Fury’s office to go on a tour of the camp or something. When they get outside they start down a trail. 

“You’re awfully quiet for the supposed energetic genius everyone says you are. I thought you’d be off the walls and wouldn’t stop talking.” Carol breaks the silence when they reach another opening containing twelve wooden cabins that couldn’t be anything else other than bunks. 

Teens are scattered around similarly to where Tony came in, chatting about meaningless topics. One of them waves to Carol and she waves back just enthusiastically. 

Tony makes a sound of affirmation as he makes eye contact with a random kid, who quickly breaks it. 

Carol gives him a confused smile. “Really?” 

He shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Why should I prove you wrong? I don’t know you, and I don’t care what you think of me.” He says. 

“Hm. I don’t like your attitude.” She frowns and he can’t tell if she’s joking or not. 

“Okay.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Good for you.” 

A blond with ‘councilor’ on his shirt like Carol holds the door for the pair into cabin six. The room doesn’t appear like the shitty summer camp cabins he was expecting. Instead it’s somewhat nice, with four bunk beds and two singles organized three bunk beds on the left wall and one on the right with the single, all facing the middle of the room

Nine of the beds are already made, and Tony notices his bags on top of one of the singles. 

“You’re lucky I’m not allowed to pick fights with campers.” Carol follows him over to his bed. 

Unzipping the first bag to check if his meticulously organized things were messed with, he looks at her up and down with a one shoulder shrug. 

She laughs, obviously confused. “What the hell was that?” she mocks the way he looked at her “Was that an insult?” 

He sighs because someone definitely searched his bag. “It was nothing, and surely not an insult. Just analyzing possible outcomes.” He closes the first bag and moves to the second one. “Are there any prohibited items in this camp?”

“Um, okay. Just drugs, alcohol, vapes, weapons of any sort. The usual. Why? Did you have any contraband?” She lets the probably odd (to her) comment slide. 

“No. They searched me and I’m wondering what they’d deem fit for taking.” 

Actually, yes he did. Probably still does if he is being honest. A gram of weed given to him by one of his friends over in Italy. Instead of the sometimes two month long summer trip he takes, Howard shortened it to two weeks so Tony could leave for here. He’ll be going back after this camp, but after he explained his dilemma, his friend tossed him the bag. Tony isn’t sure he’ll even smoke it at camp, considering it’s pretty strong. So he unscrewed the bottom of his computer and hid it in there. And also a knife which he slipped into one of the seams in a pair of shorts. No doubt Howard and Jarvis helped look during that half hour they stepped out of the room during the meeting before coming back, but Tony never keeps the same hiding spots. 

“Don’t worry, they really never take anything.” Carol reassures with a smile.    
  


“Okay.” 

Nothing appears to be rearranged enough for something to be gone, so Tony stands up straight. Just then a light haired boy struts in with a look he must think is intimidating, but Tony doesn’t agree whatsoever. 

“Hey Carol. Who’s this?” The boy stops next to Carol, giving Tony a once-over. He’s at least half a foot taller than Tony and is clearly trying to use that to his advantage too. 

Okay, just because Tony is five foot four does not mean he’s a coward that will be submissive to any bastard. He doesn’t back down. So he tilts his chin up and gives the other what Rhodey likes to call the ‘back the fuck off’ glare. 

Carol gestures to Tony and then the other boy. “This is Tony. Tony, this is Clint. He’s a good friend of mine.” 

“I can answer for myself.” Tony states as he glances at Carol. 

“I know.” 

“Can you?” Clint asks. He at least has the decency to make the mockery less obvious than he could’ve. 

“Yes I can.” Tony smiles with the fakest kindness he can muster with this amount of sleep in his system. “Say, are you staying in this cabin?” 

Clint makes a face at the question. “Yeah, why?” 

Tony clenches his jaw but keeps his smile. “Great. I hope to see more of you.” Sarcasm is dripping from his words but Clint doesn’t seem to get it. 

“Okay, I guess.” 

“Goodbye Clint! I still have to give him a tour of the camp.” Carol says as she ushers Tony out of the cabin, hand on his shoulder. 

Tony shrugs her hand off and looks back to give her a glare, but instead runs right into someone else. And falls down the stairs. In the last second he sticks out his hands to catch himself, though it doesn’t do much really. He lays there for a second to breathe out the sudden adrenaline rush, resting his forehead against the packed dirt. 

Embarrassment isn’t something Tony normally feels. It’s hard to feel embarrassed over small things when people are constantly degrading you and making fun of you for everything. So he learned to basically ignore the horrible emotion whenever something considered embarrassing happens to him. Not to say it doesn’t come out in a different way. 

“Oh my god Tony are you okay?!” He can hear her running down the wooden stairs. Two more pairs of feet follow. 

“Fucking fine.” Tony says into the dirt. “Wonderful, actually. It’s not like someone fucking ran into me and I fell down the stairs or anything. _No_, I’m _perfect_.” 

A somewhat deep voice speaks from next to Tony on the other side of Carol. “Hey, you ran into me! I didn’t do anything.” 

“I think it was pretty mutual, Steve.” A girl says next to ‘Steve’. 

Laying there does nothing, so Tony helps himself up and brushes the dirt off of him before glaring at a beefy blond and his red haired friend. 

“You didn’t do anything my _ass_! My first day here and I’m already being harassed by some blockhead.” He scowls, and the redhead smiles. 

“Blockhead?—“ Steve starts, but the redhead waves him off. 

“Just leave it. You’ll loose this conversation.” 

“No I will not! I’m not going to loose to some pretentious rich boy who loves spending daddy’s money, Natasha.” 

Tony laughs, throwing his head back for a couple of seconds before stopping and speaking in a deadpan. “Good argument to keep harassing me, moron.” 

“I’m not a moron.” Steve protests, face scrunched up in anger. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Tony, lets go. We still have to go on the tour.” Carol says as she smoothly steps in between the two boys. 

Tony nods. “Alright, see you never moron and red haired girl.” 

“See ya.” Natasha waves once with an amused smirk. 

Steve makes a sputtering sounds before going to defend himself, but Carol and Tony are already gone. 


	2. Enlighten me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yikes it’s already been almost a month. Procrastinating finishing an essay actually inspired me to finish this chapter lmao. 
> 
> Well, sorry for the delay. I’m really not good with time

“You like to insult people, don’t you?” Carol asks him with a mischievous smile as they walk towards the other side of the main cabin/building. 

  
  


Tony shrugs with one shoulder and kicks at a large pebble. “Possibly. Depends on the person. What they did—what they said. Multiple different variables.” The rock bounces six times before disappearing into the grass beside the trail. 

  
  


“Hm.” Carol hums softly. She looks around at the woods like they’re something out of this world. Something unnatural. 

  
  


It’s ironic, really. 

  
  


They walk through an opening with a bunch of tall wood cabins. “These are where the classes are held.” Carol says. 

•|• 

They walk around for at least another hour and a half. Tony is bored the whole way through, but Carol tells him fun facts about every thing she points out and introduces him to a couple of councilors like Maria Hill and some weirdo named Peter Quill. 

•|• 

Carol walks Tony back to his cabin, but this time, instead of empty, almost every bed is occupied by a teenage boy. It smells like shampoo and wet boys. Not the worst combination to be honest, but Tony isn’t interested in sleeping with one of these guys. 

“They just came back from the showers. It was a hiking morning.” Carol explains to him as she (for some reason) follows him to his bed. 

Well, that explains why half of them are shirtless. Including the dense kids Clint and Steve who are laughing at something another boy said. Great. The idiots were friends. And ripped. Basically everyone here was. Fuck them. No attraction to those weirdos.

“Cool.” He pries his eyes away from chiseled abs and takes his bags off of his bed to put them under it. “You’re practically invisible.” He notices as he separates his sheets and comforter. 

Carol shrugs, laughing, as she looks around at the boys that don’t even seem to acknowledge she’s here and try to cover up. “They’re used to it. I’m this cabins councilor, after all.” 

He huffs a little. “Funny. Have this affect with girls, too?” He teases while making his bed. 

“Do you?” She fires back. 

“Not at all.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony notices someone staring at him. A pretty average looking boy, except the staring makes Tony shiver for some reason. 

“Yeah, of course. Stark the playboy.” Carol laughs but he can tell she doesn’t mean harm by it. 

Tony gives her a smile but can’t keep his attention off that boy. When a smile begins to creep up that boys face, Tony turns his head to look at him. He doesn’t break eye contact until he leans over to another boy and whispers something. 

“That’s me.” Tony jokes back, trying to ignore the fact that now multiple boys were whispering to each other and glancing at Tony. “Any super secret places to go around here?” He asks. 

Carol sits on his now made bed and hums in thought. Tony does the same, if only to look at others looking at him. He spots only three boys who don’t seem interested in whatever is being said about him. One is Clint, which is a little surprising to Tony, considering the blatant attempt to scare him off earlier. The other two he doesn’t know whatsoever. 

“Not really. There’s the councilor lounge in the main cabin but nothing else really.” She shrugs with a laugh, “and that’s only for councilors, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

“But there’s also the library, where not many kids go during downtime or one of their free hours. Mostly nerds like it there.”

“Perfect for me.” Tony drawls sarcastically before pointing out, “We didn’t tour a library.” 

They toured everything _but_ a library. He would remember. 

Carol nods. “There was no time before your first class Which is...” she checks her watch. “Right about now. It’s wood shop and you have it for an hour and a half before you come back here. I’m sure you’ll love it.” 

“I’m sure I will.” He makes a face that Carol doesn’t see before standing to leave. 

A class within two hours of getting here, and most of that two hours was him being dragged around. All he wants to do is take a nap or maybe code something. Fucking ridiculous.    
  


“You know where it is, right?” Carol asks, and he nods in confirmation. “Okay good. See ya later.” 

“Yep.” 

•|• 

Turns out Clint’s in wood shop, too. Not that he seems to notice when Tony walks in, too busy talking to some brunette girl. He takes the table in the back corner, the furthest away from the one person he knows. And it’s in the back so no one is behind him, which he prefers. People being behind him gives him an unreasonable amount of anxiety for whatever reason. 

When he takes a seat, he can’t help but notice how everything is made out of wood. The whole furniture in the room must’ve been crafted by either the teacher or the campers. And well crafted, too, surprisingly. 

There is two blocks of wood that look both look three inches thick and six inches longon the table, along with two pencils and some paper. Tony reaches over and picks a block up. It’s probably to learn how to use the different types of tools before they make something real. 

Creating furniture shouldn’t be too hard for him. He knows how to carve wood after a school project everyone in freshman year had to do in psychics. He created a wooden, old style rollercoaster powered by kinetic energy and gravity. So he can carve wood fairly well, and sturdy furniture uses a lot of the precise measurements that Tony is good at, and he’s creative so the design/art portion will be easy. 

“Can I sit here? There’s no other seats.” 

Clint stands there somewhat awkwardly, arms crossed as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. All the tables _are_ filled, but it makes no sense that he would wait until now to get a seat. Unless he _wants_ to sit with Tony. And that’s weird. 

“No.” Tony places the block back down before he looks up. “You can’t.” 

Clint huffs, sitting anyways despite Tony’s decline. “No choice.” 

“Then why did you ask?” 

“To be polite.” 

Tony picks up the block again to turn it in his hands instead of answering. As he plays with the block, a burly young man with a leather apron and work gloves walks in. He has a neatly trimmed beard and dark slicked back hair. 

“That’s Mr. Thomas Kline. He coaches one of the baseball teams here and also teaches one of the outdoor classes. I’m not sure what exactly.” Clint whispers to him while the room quiets down. 

“Cool. I totally needed that information.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, flipping the block. 

“Welcome to wood shop, kids. Let’s get right to it. We’re going to be starting with the basics—how to carve the wood...” Mr. Kline speaks loud and clear but Tony tunes it out. 

Maybe if they have to carve their block with an original design, he can make a toy car. Something for Rhodey, who loves cars and always has a fascinated little smile whenever he watches Tony fixing up a busted engine or changing the oil on some sports car Howard wants him to touch up. Or, Pepper would really appreciate if he made her a heart or something. Or he could just make a dick. So many choices for one block. 

He sets it down and grabs a paper and a pencil in exchange. Subconsciously, Tony begins to doodle to pass the time. 

“Woah, can you draw?” Clint leans over to get a better look. 

Tony scowls. “Can you respect personal space?” 

“No, but those look really cool.” 

“Boys! Are you paying attention?” Mr. Kline says loudly while pointing at the two, drawing everyone’s attention to them. 

Clint quickly nods and sits up straight again, like a soldier. “Of course.” 

The class is suspiciously silent, and Tony can put two and two together. Obviously Mr. Kline doesn’t take shit easily. So the brunet doesn’t answer. He bites his cheek and avoids eye contact with the man instead of doing something stupid. The class still watches him attentively, like they expect him to pick a fight. They probably do. 

Kline stares at Tony for a few more seconds before shaking his head and continuing whatever he was saying. Everyone else looks disappointed or confused to an extent. Is his reputation really that fucked? A moment passes until the tension begins to fade, and Clint decides to nudge Tony under the table. Then again when he’s ignored. And again. Tony glances over with a glare and Clint looks amazed for some reason. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

Clint leans closer in response. “No ones ever just _not_ answered him! He’s made it very clear before that you have to answer—but he let you get away with it!” He whispers. 

“Okay.” Tony shrugs. “I don’t care.” He doesn’t bother whispering, but he does keep his voice low and inaudible to anyone not right next to him. 

He learned that he could speak really quiet without actually whispering while Howard was pissed at him one day. He kept talking back and Howard didn’t hear him loud enough to know he was saying anything. It’s a pretty handy skill. 

Mr. Kline looks at Clint and Tony with narrowed eyes while he’s talking. “Now that you know the basics, I will give you the tools and show you a demonstration before you can get to it.” 

He begins to walk around, handing out a few tools to every kid. 

“Why wouldn’t you care?” Clint furrows his eyebrows. 

“It’s not unordinary.” 

His eyebrows furrow even more, and Tony is somewhat surprised to see Clint clench his fists. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe you _are_ privileged.” 

Tony opens his mouth with a small, confusedsmile. It’s almost unbelievable that someone would invite themselves over and then proceed to annoy and insult him. _Almost_. If he didn’t know how crazy people really are, of course. And the change in attitude really shouts uncontrollable mood swings. 

“Maybe I am.” He agrees, not even bothering to school his smile back to something that appears less mocking. “Id like to say, if we’re basing our opinions on prejudices, were you _born_ this stupid? Or did you get hit in the head one too—“

“Stark.” Mr. Kline interrupts Tony’s half assed insult. “Would you like to finish that sentence?” He sets down the tools. 

Tony looks over at Clint, who is throughly pissed. “I’m good. I think he pulled enough of those few brain cells he still has together to figure out what I was saying.” He shrugs, meeting eyes with the man. 

“I don’t have to give the standard ‘be nice’ lecture to you boys, do I?” The man looks between both of them. 

“Has it changed from the last time I’ve heard it? If so, sure! Enlighten me.” Tony says and smiles sarcastically. 

A snort comes from beside him. Confused, he drops his smile and turns to Clint, who is hiding a grin behind his hand. When they make eye contact, the blond cracks up. 

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” 

Clint laughs even harder. 

“What kind of bullshit is this? You insult a guy and he laughs! The standard response is a sucker punch, _not_ giggling. Apparently this dumbass hasn’t gotten the memo.” 

Mr Kline smiles, shaking his head as Clint struggles to catch his breath between his laughing. “Never mind. You boys will be fine.” 

“Great.” 


	3. Oh look! Another asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is to make up for the long wait. 
> 
> Also! Stephen! Though Tony doesn’t know his name yet. 
> 
> And I don’t want to make Tony too not-Tony but this is an alternate universe so he’s athletic lmao 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like it!

He ends up carving a car in wood shop. It’s far from perfect. It’s a little rough on the bottom and slightly chipped on the back, butTony pockets it anyways. When he goes to leave, Mr Kline looks like he wants to say something to him. To avoid a lecture, Tony walks faster. He knew an incoming talk by Klines concerned frown and furrowed eyebrows. Many of his teachers have had that expression. Usually more than once. 

  
  


Clint follows him outside, hovering a couple feet back as Tony tries to escape. 

  
  


“Hey, uh, Tony!” Clint hurries to say before he gets out of hearing range. 

Tony slows to a stop. Struggling to hide his annoyance, he takes a deep breath and schools his scowl off his lips before turning around. The least he could do is _pretend_ to not be on the edge of snapping during the first day in hell. Maybe that would make him less of a target. “Yes?” He grits out with his best poker face. 

Clint smiles sheepishly. “I wanna apologize. For insulting you,” He gestures to the shorter boy weakly, “I shouldn’t listen to what other people say.” 

Insane is definitely how Tony would describe Clint. But he’s no doctor. 

“I don’t care if you insult me,” He shrugs with one shoulder. 

He doubts Clint’s insults could bother him anyways. Many older, more ruthless men than Clint have insulted him in his lifetime. The pathetic rich boy stereotype had no impact on Tony’s mindset. Stereotyping is something he deals with on a daily, especially near people who know liberally nothing about him that hasn’t been in the tabloids. It’s nothing unusual, nothing surprising. Just another pebble in the ocean. Nothing like a grown man comparing Tony to a personal escort. Yeah. Nothing like that. 

“It was rude! Let me make it up to you. Sit with me and my friends for dinner?” Clint offers with a hopeful smile, hands clasped in front of his chest like a prayer. 

Tony doesn’t sigh but he does take a slow breath in. “I’m all set,” He smiles and makes sure it reaches his eyes, “Thanks for the invitation, though I’d rather drown in the lake than sit with you and your friends.” His comment makes Clint laugh. He isn’t joking. 

“But I’m serious. You don’t know anyone but Carol and she sits with us, too. Just for the first couple days and then you can leave.” 

“No.” 

His smile is getting harder to hold and the conversation is about to become repetitive, so Tony turns around so he can lay down before the next class. 

“Please?” Clint calls after him. He sighs loud enough for the other to hear when he’s left ignored. 

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and walks a little faster. 

•|• 

He collapses on the bed with a huff, burying his face in his pillow and kicking off his sneakers. He hasn’t gotten sleep in two days. Last night he spent on FaceTime with Rhodey and Pepper. Their different locations and schedules made it hard to talk frequently, so it was an unspoken agreement that they would talk as long as they can before they can’t. Tony being here is one of the shitty things that makes him unable to see his best friends. 

The night before he simply spent wandering in the garden after he snuck out. One of Howard’s body guards joined him a little more than an hour after he left, and simply sat in the dirt with Tony as he rambled to himself. He doesn’t doubt that Mama or Jarvis sent him outside. Thomas, the bodyguard, is one of the ones that doesn’t mind spending time with Tony. He’s practically like a cousin or something to him. Maybe an older brother if he was around a little more. 

He closes his eyes to block out the bright rays of sun shining through the numerous windows and pushes his face deeper into the cotton. The pillow makes it hard to breathe, but he doesn’t budge in favor of the dark. 

Sleepless, frantic thoughts begin to slow down in the way they never seem to do while he goes through his day to day life. 

He lets the empty darkness overtake him. 

•|• 

Tony startles awake so violently that he whacks his head against his headboard. He was falling in his dream. The sharp pain forces him to regain his thoughts. Ignoring the sudden chaos, he squints and analyzes his surroundings. All the beds are completely deserted. He is the only one in the room.

“Ah, what the fuck...” he mutters to himself while he slides out of the bed, “What time is it?” He checks the clock, “Oh fuck me!” 

Tony grimaces, yanking on his sneakers and checking his schedule one more time before practically running out the door. 

“It’s the fucking day and I slept through nearly half my second class!” He says, breaking out into a sprint, “This is my life! _Why_ is this my life?” 

It seems the daily morning runs really do help because he gets to the building that is about a mile away from the cabin within five minutes. He enters the building and combs his hair back while he tries catching his breath. He’s not that sweaty, but his face his definitely a little pink. 

“Fucking jeez. Of course my stupid internal clock does shit when I need it. But at least I know what time it is when I’m awake!” Tony mutters angrily, hurrying up the stairs, “If anyone sees me talking to myself they’ll think I’m crazy.” 

He makes another attempt to appear like he hadn’t just run a mile before he walks down the hallway. He stops in front of a door with the number 9 beside the frame, takes a deep breath, and enters the room. 

All eyes are on him when he steps through with a careless smirk. None of the five people he knows the names of are in the class. 

“Glad you could join us thirty minutes late, Mr Stark,” The teacher says with a bit of sarcasm, “My name is Ms Van Dyne.” She looks too young to be a teacher. 

“Okay....” Tony makes a face that gets him a few amused looks from the class, “I’m _so_ glad to be here, Ms Van Dyne.” 

Ms Van Dyne squints at him with a tiny smile, most definitely assessing him, “I’m sure you are.” 

“What class is this, anyways?”

The class laughs. 

“Beekeeping.” Van Dyne raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, _cool_. Explains the black and yellow,” He gestures to her yellow shirt and black shorts, “Though, I think you’re a little big for them to consider you one of their own.” 

“Go sit down.” She ignores his joke and gestures to table in the back. 

“Okie dokie.” Tony flashes her an obnoxious smile before going where he was told. 

A boy with jet black hair is sitting at the table, facing towards the window so his face remains unseen. He obviously doesn’t want to talk, which is a win win because Tony isn’t in the mood to talk anyways. 

It gets irritating sometimes. Not talking—he likes to talk when it’s an interesting topic and with people he doesn’t mind. But keeping up a playful act when he doesn’t feel like joking around, and would rather take a nap—or rarely, talk about his feelings—that’s irritating. Especially when he’s expected to always be the comedic relief. And when he doesn’t poke fun of others or make witty little comments, people give him weird looks. He’s not allowed to be quiet. 

But this kid seems like he prefers the quiet. 

Ms Van Dyne continues to talk after a sarcastic quip about Tony being late. The amusement hidden by annoyance is easily recognizable so he doesn’t bother talking back. Once the room averts their attention, the smile slips off his face as he sinks into the free chair, resting his head in his arms on the table. From the corner of his eye he can see the other look over at him but he opts to ignore him by closing his eyes. 

The teachers talking becomes white noise as he controls his breathing enough to relax his thoughts. When he was young...well younger, like seven or eight, his mama and Aunt Peggy taught him how to breathe. It was a little after they figured out why he acted the way he did, and Mama didn’t want him on a medication that could screw with his hormones. So, breathing. They taught him a couple other tricks, like exercising and writing, too. He joined gymnastics along with his schools track team, and everyday for two years before he changed schools, they would sit down with him and just meditate for an hour. He wasn’t—still isn’t—really all that good at it, but it’s better than nothing. Sometimes it was only Peggy or Mama, and occasionally Jarvis, Ana, or Howard would join them. Howard only went because Peggy and Mama would force him at least once a week. 

And the breathing worked most of the time. As hard as it is. 

But then it got worse, and Tony had to start taking medicine when nothing works, which is more often than he would like. A lot of the time he just doesn’t take the meds. He still meditates when he can, but now he mostly just runs everyday, works on martial arts/self defense, and does gymnastics when he can. 

“You can’t sleep in the cabins like a normal person?” A smooth, deep voice says, making Tony open one eye to look over to the black haired kid curiously. 

Who is staring at him with an icy glare. And is also super fucking hot. Tony blinks both eyes open before sitting up and getting a better look at the other. Holy shit why was he facing _away_ from Tony? 

Pale skin. Bright blue-green (or grey?) eyes watching him intently. Somewhat pouty lips pursed in annoyance. Cheekbones so sharp they look like they would draw blood if you were to touch them. He wore a v-neck white shirt that showed off his collarbones and broad shoulders, and dark blue shorts which highlighted his beautiful eyes. And to top it all off, the other boy raised his eyebrow in expectance, waiting for Tony to say something. 

Fucking _hot_.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Tony smiles sarcastically. Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he gets an exception for disturbing his peaceful moment. 

“And I should care why? You weren’t paying attention.” 

“She was talking about bees.” 

The boy scoffs and rolls his eyes, which is unfairly attractive. “Wow, the rumors are true, you really _do_ know everything.” 

“Fine, what was she talking about?” 

“We have to create all natural beeswax soap.” 

He nods. “Alright. That’s easy. Leave me alone and I’ll get it done soon.” 

Usually group projects went like that anyways. He was left to do all the work, and get everyone else the highest grade possible. It isn’t a bad thing, either, because the work he usually has to do isn’t difficult or anything. And no one else can bring down his grade. 

The boy looks taken aback, almost offended by Tony’s offer. “What? It’s a _group_ project.” He points out. 

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs, “I know.” 

“We’re supposed to do it _together_ as a _group_. And if anything, I would be the one doing the work.” 

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “No, you would not.”

“Yes, I would.” 

“Why would you?” 

“As far as I can tell, it’s obvious you’re an impatient, conceited, and arrogant little boy. You can’t even suck it up enough to make soap. I’m surprised they even let you apply to this camp. Oh, wait. That’s right—your family is rich. That explains it.” 

Tony snorts. “That’s hilarious! You’re practically describing yourself,” he looks the other in the eye and deadpans, “You know _nothing_ about me.”

“I don’t need to know anything about you, and I don’t want to.” 

Anger burns hot in his chest and Tony takes a deep breath before he does anything irrational like punching this kid in his kissable lips. He doesn’t even know his name and he’s already done with him. 

In. 

Out. 

In. 

Out. 

‘Be good’ Jarvis said. Tony can’t punch someone yet. At least give it a week. 

“Wow! Ding Ding Ding—you’re right! You win! I’m an ‘impatient, conceited, and arrogant’ asshole. But so are you,” Tony grins sharply. “Congrats. I’ll help you make some fucking soap. You can keep it to wash the bullshit out of your mouth.” 

“Fuck off, Stark.” 

•|• 

Van Dyne comes over and states firmly that they must ‘work together’. 

They end up not talking and finishing the soap in silence. Tony let’s the other keep it with a sardonic smile.


	4. Lies and libraries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been too long but I’ve finally gotten all my grades up!! And now I have plenty of time during vacation to write more. 
> 
> I’m so glad so many people like this story. It started off as a random idea and I’ve never been to summer camp myself so I’m mainly making stuff up as it comes. 
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback!! 😘 i love you all
> 
> And would anyone mind if I skipped over some of the days to speed up the story. I’m still figuring things out because I’m not really a planning type of person. Maybe that’s why the story is all over the place haha
> 
> Okay that’s all for now! happy holidays!!

By the time Tony gets out of the class it’s 5:30 and dinner is at 6:30 so he has an hour to waste. 

Remembering what Carol said about the library, how not many people go there during free time, he heads to where he assumes the library would be. Of course he has no clue where it would be, but he isn’t about to ask anyone in fear that they’d follow him. He needs some alone time. 

And a library is a perfect place for that. 

Before going to the library, he makes a beeline towards the cabins. Hopefully he cantalk to Rhodey or Pepper while waiting for dinner. 

He climbs the steps two at a time and swings the door open. Only Carol is in the cabin, organizing what looks like a bunch of names and groups. Probably some team activity or whatever. 

She looks up and smiles as he walks to his bed. “Hey, Tony.” 

“Hi.” He responds automatically, pulling a bag from under his bed and zipping it open. 

“Whatcha doing?” 

“Looking for something.” When he doesn’t feel the computer at the bottom of the bag, Tony furrows his eyebrows. 

Carol watches the boy dig a hand into his bag again and feel around. “Your laptop?” She asks nonchalantly, looking away when his head snap around to glare at her accusingly. 

“You took it?” As he speaks he involuntarily squeezes his hands into fists. 

“Yes.” Carol admits. “I was told to search every camper in this cabins bags. Shield doesn’t allow anyone to have any of their own personal tech with them. Phones are the only exception, and even then you’re only allowed to use them after before bed.” 

“So where is my stuff?” He asks, getting right to the point. 

All personal tech. So his computer _and_ the two circuit boards he brought. Plus the contraband that could get him in trouble with Mama if she found out. Wonderful. 

She must’ve noticed his anger because she didn’t hesitate in answering. “Fury’s Office.” 

_Double_ wonderful. Mama will _definitely_ be contacted if Fury finds the weed. 

“Thanks so much for all of your help.” Tony zips his bag up and throws it under the bed before walking out with quick steps. 

As the door shuts he can hear her cut off protest for him to not leave. 

Before she could get up and follow him, he jumps off the stairs and slinks behind the cabin. Hidden by the buildings, he walks behind them until he reaches the trail that leads back to the front building. From what he remembers, there’s a map at the front desk. He still wants to go to the library. 

Why didn’t Fury just take his computer when Howard and Jarvis were looking for contraband? Did he forget? Is this just a ploy by Howard to make sure Tony can’t code anything complicated (weapons, AI, etc;) Maybe both, and Fury was conveniently reminded during that talk they for sure had after Tony was escorted away by Carol. 

That rat bastard. 

A part of him is whispering he’s childish for blaming everything on Howard. 

...but another part screams that he’s probably right. 

Tony rakes a hand through his hair and shakes the curls out of his face with a frustrated sigh, hurrying his steps. 

The admissions office is empty, so he helps himself to a mint and locates the library. And maybe he kicks one of the tall wood walls holding Fury’s picture and a chair over before he leaves for no specific reason. Just maybe. 

The library isn’t very far, and as he walks into the large building, a rush of cool air hits him as he opens the door. Pale grey cushioned chairs are arranged in two groups of four around a black rug on either side of the door, and a thick wooden desk lays a few yards from him. Theres a large opening in the wall a few feet beside the desk framed with more brown wood. The only other person in the room is a curly black haired boy with thick glasses who sits at the desk, reading.

Tony walks up to the other boy and knocks on the desk. Mischievous pleasure swirls in his chest when he startles, book falling from his grasp and onto the desk. But as soon as the emotion arrived, it dissolves as Tony quickly remembers himself.  
  


“Ah, you alright?” He asks calmly, tapping the desk. 

The boy smooths his pale green t-shirt and pushes up those hideous oval glasses. Really, the kid would look much better with a more square type style. Or without them entirely. “Y-yeah. You scared me. I didn’t even hear you come in.” He stutters softly. 

Tony shrugs, looking down at the book. “I can be quiet, I guess, but you seemed pretty invested in...” he turns his head to look at the name of the book, “...The Origin of Species so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me. Hey, did you know Charles Darwin married his first cousin? Or that only seven out of their ten children survived to adulthood and three were infertile?” The words spill out against his will. 

The boy blinks with disbelief and pushes up his glasses before nodding. “Yes, actually. I assume his discovery must’ve opened his eyes a little.” His lips twitch into a small smile, voice still sad in a way that makes Tony want to frown. 

“He related to the plants.” Tony grins. 

Actually, he also relates to plants. Well, more like compares to plants instead of relates. Instead of looking at a plant and saying ‘same’, he tends to compare people to the meanings associated with certain plants.   
  
  
  


His unusual fascination with plants since a young age cause him to make comparisons between humans and plants. It makes him like people more. Not that he would ever admit it. To anyone. Probably not even himself (at least not out loud). 

“...hello?” The boy furrows his eyebrows in confusion when Tony snaps out of a trance-like stare. “D-Did you hear what I said?” 

Tony laughs and rubs his eyes. “No, I didn’t. Could you repeat it?” 

  
  


“Just forget it.” The other sighs, voice quiet. 

  
  


“Okay...” he nods before changing the topic. “I just realized I have no clue who you are. What’s your name?”

  
  


“Oh—“ He sticks out his hand for Tony to shake. “Um—Bruce Banner.” 

  
  


He grasps Bruce’s hand firmly like Howard taught him. “Tony. Nice to meet you.” 

  
  


“Nice to meet you too. Tony Stark, right? The boy genius?” 

  
  


“Yeah, but I personally prefer the name ‘sexy beast’. Same amount of syllables, too.” 

  
  


His joke actually draws a soft laugh out of Bruce. “I’m sure.” 

  
  


“Was that a dig at me?” Tony holds a hand over his heart in mock offense. 

  
  


“Never.” Bruce shakes his head, curls somehow not falling in his eyes. 

  
  


“I’ll let it slide. For now. So...”

  
  


They talk about science and about how Bruce doesn’t work at the library but he does look after it during some of his free time in the afternoons. Odd topics like Fury or school slip in occasionally. Tony finds out that Bruce is really shy but also pretty smart from what he could gather by the way the other spoke about certain things. 

  
  


It has to be least twenty five minutes of conversations before Bruce’s phone buzzes and he quietly says his friends want him to hang out before dinner. He apologizes for whatever reason and hurries off, leaving Tony sitting on a wooden desk in an empty library. 

  
  


The large clock on the wall states he only has fifteen minutes until lunch. He must’ve sat there alone for five or so minutes. Well that’s awkward. 

  
  


He begrudgingly gets up to leave for dinner. Apparently campers were required to be at the dining hall before the clock strikes 6:30. Or they would be punished blah blah blah. How would they even keep track of all the teenagers anyways? Whatever it is, he’ll figure out a loophole. 

  
  


Almost daringly, he takes his time getting to the dining hall. He continues to wonder what they would do to him if he is late. 

  
  


His watch reads 6:28 pm when he reaches the doors to the building. Someone holds the door for him with a nonchalant smile and he mutters a thank you before following in behind. As much as he hates socializing with strangers sometimes, he still has manners. He wasn’t raised in a barn. 

  
  


“Tony!” 

  
  


Tony closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning his head to see Clint’s smiling face a few feet away. 

  
  


“Barton.” He greets. 

  
  


“Come on! I already signed you in.” Clint smiles, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

  
  


“Excuse me? Signed me in?” 

  
  


Clint nods. “Yup! At my table! Every table has a seating chart you fill in before dinner and once it’s 6:30, seats can’t be changed.” 

  
  


Quickly Tony whirls his head around to find a clock. He _can’t_ sit with Clint and his friends. That’s too much. 

  
  


“It’s 6:30.” The other helpfully supplies, holding up his watch. 

  
  


“You sneaky bastard.” Tony hisses, tightening his hands into fists before relaxing them. 

  
  


Somehow not bothered whatsoever, Clint gestures for Tony to follow him. “Come on. You have to get food before the good stuff runs out.” 


	5. Eat up, kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony doesn’t get to finish his dinner and he has another, more friendly chat with an earlier foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah it’s been forever! I’m so sorry. It’s hard to write about summer during the winter, I suppose. But don’t worry! I’m back. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone, new and old. Especially those who stuck around from last year. 
> 
> I re-wrote some scenes, like the argument between Stephen and Tony and such to make them more accurate. And I accidentally mentioned Stephens name so I decided to delete that entire part lol. You don’t have to reread them but if you’d like, go ahead!
> 
> Also I might make Loki a sort of second possible LI but idk yet because I love some good Frostiron as much as I love ironstrange. I haven’t decided yet haha
> 
> Once again thank you and I love you all ❤️

Clint decided to bring Tony over to the buffet before dragging him into socializing with people who are most likely weirdos. The food, surprisingly, looks edible and actually delicious, Tony thinks as he stares at the trays of food set out with labels with calories and ingredients attached. There is a whole array that any picky eater would enjoy—which is probably necessary due to the number of kids they have to feed. Can’t have the kids starve or anything like that. That wouldn’t be very 5 stars, would it?

  
  


Tony immediately makes a b-line for the cheeseburgers, grabbing one and a plate full of fries. Then, to please his inner Jarvis, he picks up a bowl of caesar salad and a water bottle. He can have something packed to the brim with caffeine or sugar (hopefully both) once he gets off his ass for the run he couldn’t do this morning because he was stuffed into a car. 

  
  


“Hey! Wait up! You don’t know where the table is,” Clint grins, running to catch Tony before he could run away and hide. He steps slightly in the way to block his escape. A bowl of spaghetti and meatballs are balanced on each of his palms and Clint almost fumbles one when he comes to a halt, but quickly--sadly--catches it. Okay, so not all the food looks delicious. He spoke too soon. 

  
  


“Oh, right... my bad. Wouldn't want to get lost or anything,” Tony drawls. It takes all of his self-control to not sound too sarcastic. 

  
  


Clint doesn’t notice, or he just ignores it. “Follow me.” 

  
  


They go over and sit at a near-empty table other than Natasha and beef for brains Steve. Clint plops down at the end seat, and Tony has to choose between two evils to sit in the empty seat beside him, across from Steve. There is another seat next to him, so all he can do is pray no idiot decides to plant their ass there in particular. The redhead gives them both a small wave, but Steve only greets Clint and gives Tony a suspicious once-over. Two can play at that game, Tony thinks as he politely returns the wave and ignores the blond outright. _Daddy’s boys aren’t bothered with tedious things like having manners. _

  
  


Tony stabs a fork into his salad, not paying attention as the table slowly starts to alight with conversation and laughter as other kids arrive and fill the empty spots. He does catch Carols’ gaze, and they smile at each other, but that’s it. (He decided to forgive her during his last class. It wasn't her fault his stuff was taken, she was just doing her job). 

  
  


In a way, it’s awkward, being the outsider, but he finds that he doesn’t mind that much. Not after long years of being excluded among his peers just because of things like his background, young age, or intelligence. Anything and everything about him was used as an excuse to leave him out. Not very creative ones, either, so it was equal parts pathetic and hilarious along with somewhat mortifying. 

  
  


A soft voice draws his eyes away from the greens and to a glasses-faced boy watching him from the adjoining seat. “Tony?” 

  
  


“Brucie-bear! What are you doing here? You hang around these guys? That’s odd.” Tony quips, voice neutral, looking at the newest beefy blond addition who must have come over with Bruce declare something loudly to Clint over the heads of the two. Odd sure is one way to explain it. 

  
  


Bruce shrugs a little, obviously noticing Tony’s underlining surprise. “Yeah...they might not be the most intelligent bunch, but, uh, they’re really good friends to me. They always make sure I’m not uncomfortable with anything we do and keep me included. It’s...nice. We’re like a weird little family, of sorts…”

  
  


“I understand,” Tony nods. And he does understand, in a certain way, because of his two best friends who treated him more like family than not. “But, if I may, I have to know how the fuck you, what, joined them? Did they decide they need a nerd to even out their group and kidnap you? Did you sign up? Does every new member get initiated like a cult? I’ve actually gotten quite a few invites to a cult and lemme tell you they sure are--” 

  
  


“Is he bothering you, Bruce?” Steve suddenly and apparently just notices their conversation and decides to interrupt, cutting Tony off with a threatening growl, as if it’s his say to who talks to his friend. It draws Clint and Natasha’s eyes to them, but nobody else at the table seems to mind or deem it worth their attention. 

  
  


To Tony, someone getting upset that he was chatting with one of their friends is completely normal. People don’t _like_ him. And there are plenty of options as to why. One could pluck scrap paper from a hat for one, and could virtually pick a new one every day for months without it repeating. But if someone doesn’t like him--with solid reasoning or not--they sure as hell won’t want him ‘working his charm’ on their best buddies, that’s for sure. Usually, he’d back off, let the person win something for once in their sorry life, and that is presumably the best option in most cases because predicting some people’s reactions is a fickle thing. But Steve really pisses him off and Bruce has strong potential to be a future friend. 

  
  


Tony opens his mouth to defend himself, but Bruce, who actually seemed interested in what Tony had to say shakes his head and beats him to it. “No. It’s okay, Steve. We were just talking,” he answers in that soft-spoken voice of his. 

  
  


“Really?” Clint has a grin spread from ear to ear. “That’s great!” It goes ignored. 

  
  


“Talking? You must be mistaken. It’s a miracle that Captain Muscles came to your rescue! Perfect timing, really--I was _just_ about to stab you with my fork!” Tony says to Bruce loudly, plastering on a relieved smile and spinning his fork between two raised fingers. 

  
  


A tiny smile quirks at Bruce’s lips in response, nervous concern laced in with the amusement. Tony spares a look over at Steve and he spots the second he sees red by the way his eyes widen and the way his nose scrunches up slightly. 

  
  


Luckily, and funnily enough, a boy with a metal arm and long brown hair tied up in a bun hurries over and puts his flesh arm around Steve. “Hey, Stevie! What’s going on over here?” he asks, sending the other brunet a half-glare filled with more curiosity than anger. He definitely knows what was being said. 

  
  


Steve sighs, anger fizzing and a weary smile taking the scowls place. “Hey Bucky. Nothing. Where have you been? I thought you were sitting with us tonight?” 

  
  


“Yeah, I am. Just running a little late from swimming,” ‘Bucky’ sits down next to his friend. 

  
  


Tony, bored again, starts eating. Bruce quietly catches him up to speed on everyone’s names. There’s the five he knows, Clint, Bruce, Carol, Natasha, Steve. And then there’s Wanda and Pietro (twins), Thor (the third big blonde guy), Bucky, Sam, and Scott. Apparently, these are the people who usually stay, but others come and go whenever they please. Bruce also, along with helping him, promises to serve as his personal encyclopedia of campers so he can give names to faces. Pretty helpful. 

  
  


He gives a nod once Bruce is finished, eyes scanning the table. “So, not a cult, then. Nobody leaves cults.” 

  
  


Bruce chuckles gently. “Not a cult,” he confirms. 

  
  


Then, something—someone—catches Tony’s eyes from across the room, just over Natasha’s slender shoulder. The boy from beekeeping, sitting at a mostly empty table with only two other boys and one girl, reading a book as he talks to the others. He looks at ease. If a little annoyed at whatever the short boy next to him said. 

  
  


Tony imagines blue-green eyes glaring at him and harsh words and his mouth does its favorite thing, taking off before his self-control can catch up. He pulls his stare away with a slight concerning effort and blurts “Who is that?” before he can shut his trap. 

  
  


Bruce raises his eyebrow. “You have to be specific. There are hundreds of people here.” 

  
  


“Ah, nevermind. It doesn’t matter,” Tony shakes his head, cursing himself internally. He shouldn’t care what the others name is because he seems smart and is attractive. And it’s not like they’ll interact anywhere other than beekeeping, and even then he’s not completely sure. As Bruce said, there are hundreds of kids here. Plenty of people between them. 

  
  


Natasha must sense an opportunity because she leans forward on her elbows and rests her head in her hands and asks “Who were you about to ask about?” Her question draws attention and Tony finds himself being watched by several pairs of eyes.

  
  


“I wasn’t talking to you,” Tony retorts. 

  
  


“Watch your tone,” Steve warns, jumping at the chance to be aggressive towards the genius. 

  
  


Tony rolls his eyes, silently praying to not lose his temper. _Everyone_ is testing him today. It’s like he has ‘_piss me off_!’ written in sharpie across his goddamn forehead. Howard, Steve, Clint, the handsome asshole, Fury, etc, etc— does he really have to keep listing people? The point has been made. 

  
  


“Oh, sorry—was I also talking to you?” Tony asks, tilting his head. “Or are you trying to pick a fight with me because I make the poor little baby angry?” he pouts. 

  
  


Steve moves to stand, but Bucky quickly grabs his arm and pulls him back down, muttering something to him. Tony thinks the guy is awfully amused considering how mad his best friend is. 

  
  


Then, one of the twins speaks up. “Who do you think you are, Stark?” Wanda hisses. 

  
  


“You aren’t entitled to anything we aren’t just because of your name,” Steve adds, after he shrugged off his friend’s hand. 

  
  


Tony rolls his eyes, clenching his fists. “I never said I was. Is there fucking cotton in your ears?”

  
  


“Woah--Clint come get your dog,” The boy named Sam laughs, glancing over at Steve to see his reaction, but he is too busy watching Tony with a steady glare to notice the others obvious need for approval. 

  
  


Clint says “he’s not my dog, Wilson” but he laughs anyway—extremely nervously—as he glances between them, so really the whole coming to Tony’s defense thing doesn’t work like he must have intended.

  
  


“If he was, I’d say return him to the pound you got him from,” Wanda remarks. The way that she glares creeps him out a little. 

  
  


Then her brother pipes up, “He’s a bit aggressive. Like he has rabies.” 

  
  


“Don’t say that.” Steve shakes his head. Then he smirks a little. “I’m sure he got his shots.” Apparently, his approval made it okay, because it causes everyone--but Bruce, Thor, Bucky, Clint, and Natasha-- to join in on the ribbing. 

  
  


They’re talking over one another, laughing, and it all becomes a mess of noise that Tony can’t decipher. He shakes his head to himself, partially to remind himself how stupid the whole ordeal is, and partially to physically display his frustration. 

  
  


“Hey, guys. Stop.” Carol demands with her no-bullshit counselor voice when she notices Tony isn’t saying anything anymore, defending himself. “It’s not funny.” The laughter calms down as she looks them all over. Natasha keeps her gaze relaxed, but she looks a little guilty, most likely not expecting it to escalate into a roast session. 

  
  


“I agree!” Thor declares, frowning. “There is no humor in mocking our companion.” 

  
  


“That’s odd.” Tony drawls slowly, waiting until the spotlight is on him to continue, “because I think it's hilarious. Really, for a second I thought I was in a comedy club,” he stands up, lifting one leg to step over the bench. “But then I suddenly remembered…stupid people aren’t funny.” He gives them all a guilty smile and a mocking wave before turning and taking his leave. 

  
  


“I can’t believe it. He can’t take a joke.” someone mutters towards his retreating back. 

  
  


“Wait to go, Steve.” Bucky laughter becomes muffled as Tony makes his way across the large room. 

  
  
_Damn, he didn’t get to finish his food. _   
  
  


Once he’s on the path back to the cabins, he stretches his arms high above his head and groans. All he wants to do is sleep. And text his friends. And hijack Fury’s car to hightail it out of this freakish teenager-filled nightmare. Texting his friends is the numero uno at the moment. Top of the to-do list. He can plan his master escapade sometime within the next 11 weeks, which he happens to have free—but a few days will do the trick. There’s no way he can last more than seven days. 

  
  


_Now_, he has the urge to send deep fried memes and suspicious links to his friends. 

  
  


  * |• 

  
  


Tony kicks his feet up on his bed, shoes on, as he uncaps a pen with his teeth. Time to waste time. 

  
  


  * |•

  
  


Thirty minutes have passed when the door creaks open and a singular boy walks in. The one from beekeeping. Mr. Asshole himself. Tony doesn’t make any sudden movements and keeps his mouth shut, carefully and silently watching the other, as much as he really wants to scream and shout about _‘how much worse can this whole fucking camp ordeal really fucking get—‘_

  
  


But Mr. Asshole—because he needs a _name_, obviously, so it will do for now—meets his eyes for a second, glares, and then plops down on the other single bed beside him. To hide the blueprints he is currently designing for some future chaos-causing, Tony subtly lifts his leg and shifts the notebook so that it would be difficult to read for anyone other than him unless they were willing to be caught in the action. Mr. Asshole leans over to the nightstand between the two beds—which they must have to share—to pick up the book that is resting on the wood. Philosophical Foundations of Neuroscience. Tony skimmed it before he started scribbling down his ideas. He never had much interest in Neuroscience or topics like that. Not with everything he could still learn about machines and math and technology. Maybe he can pursue medicine and the human body as a side project. 

  
  


They pay each other no mind, the scrape of his pen, paper turning every few minutes, and their evenly matched breathing the only sound in the room. _Weird how comfortable it is_, Tony muses to himself, _considering their first meeting._ He licks his lips, doodling a small skull. 

  
  


And what’s even weirder is, five minutes after his original thought, Tony isn’t the one that breaks the silence. 

  
  


“Do you mind? I am trying to _read_,” Mr. Asshole sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  
  


Tony glances up from his work and makes a face somewhere between disbelieving and annoyed. “I’m not even doing anything, jeez,” he says. 

  
  


“You keep moving around. I can see you in the corner of my eye.”

  
  


Does he? Well, he didn’t even realize. “I was here first. You can read somewhere else, you know.” 

  
  


Mr. Asshole gives him a dry look. “And you can _doodle_ somewhere else, too. It doesn’t matter you were here first. I’ve read at this time before you’ve gotten here, and I will continue to.” 

  
  


Tony narrows his eyes and then tilts his head curiously when he suddenly remembers what Carol mentioned earlier. After dinner, almost every night, there is a mandatory nighttime activity such as a movie or a talent show. The keyword is mandatory. 

  
  


“Right. Shouldn’t you be out there watching shitty movies and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes like everyone else?” 

  
  


“Shouldn’t you?” Mr. Asshole fires back, looking up for a second to give him an annoyed glare. There’s a well-hidden spark of interest behind those pretty eyes, and Tony feels somewhat obligated to satisfy the curiosity. Maybe its because he--for some reason--enjoys speaking with the other boy, or maybe he’s just a sucker for attractive people. Either or. 

  
  


And, well, the point is fair enough. He SHOULD be out there swatting colossal sized bloodsuckers. 

  
  


The brunet shrugs one shoulder. “Eh. I doubt anyone misses my oh-so-charming presence. And I sure as HELL don’t miss any of theirs.” 

  
  


Mr. Asshole hides a snort by coughing. “You’d risk getting your dumbass in trouble to avoid a couple of idiots?” He questions, but then tilts his head in thought. “How ignorant of you.” 

  
  


“Yes I would. And in my eyes, you’re doing the same--so I’d watch what you call me, asshole.” 

  
  


“We are not in the same boat,” he makes a face that could mean an array of things. After a beat, he adds “I’ll call you what I want.”

  
  


Tony rolls his eyes, forcing his attention back to the notebook on his lap. 

  
  


  * |• 

  
  


When Carol comes storming in sometime later in the night and smacks him upside the head for ditching, Tony finds himself glaring daggers at Mr. Asshole, who is laughing behind his thick book. 

  
  


Mr. Asshole really is an accurate name. 


	6. Meet and greet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It’s been quite a bit! I’ve been doing tons of summer work 🙄. So here’s a slightly longer chapter! Sorry if there are any grammar or spelling issues.
> 
> Thank you for all the positive feedback! It really makes my day. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a fantastic evening/morning, whenever you’re reading this.

With a groan, Tony sprawls out on a wide patch of grass just beside the track to soak up the sun, running a hand through his semi-damp hair. Four miles—sixteen laps—around the multi-use field. None of the handful of teens playing a pickup game of morning soccer (football for nearly everyone else in the world) on said field paid him any mind, except for a few stares when they thought he wasn’t looking. Which pisses him off a bit. If they're going to stare—they don’t have to be a pussy about it and try to hide it. If someone has the balls to unabashedly watch him, Tony will let them. Why should he care, anyway?

  
  


Anyway, he’s catching his breath after collapsing spread eagle on the cushy ground, planning how he’s going to spend his Saturday off from mandatory classes and annoying people—when a shadow blocks the warmth of the sun. Tony squints up with a scowl, holding up his hand as he tried to make out the short-ish figure. The bright halo of light surrounding them really isn’t helping. But before he can, they sit down beside him. 

  
  


His curiosity is immediately squashed like a bug and annoyance quickly takes its place. 

  
  


“You’re fast,” Natasha says nonchalantly, watching the players on the field with what looks like a slight interest.

  
  


Tony gives a shrug in response. His shoulders rub against the grass—and he’s partially thankful he’s wearing a tank top so he wouldn’t accidentally stain one of his shirts.

  
  


“Thanks. I just imagine scary gingers are chasing me. It works wonders,” Is what he says. “What, were you creepily watching me from the bushes or something?”

  
  


To his surprise, she snorts with a half-smirk. “Maybe, maybe not. Next time I could surprise you and chase you to see how fast you really are.” She jokes, green eyes watching him from where she sits and he shrugs again, grinning. 

  
  


“You could, but I might just roundhouse kick you and book it into the woods. Fight or flight and all that.” 

  
  


It’s her turn to grin at him before her gaze falls back to the field. Tony props himself up on his elbows, following her lead to lazily watch the how the players run back and forth, to and from, red from the heat and sweat sticking their pale colored camp shirts to their skin. His own flush has died down by now, but his face is still a little hot—burnt from the time he’s spent in the sun this past week. 

  
  


Along with running, Tony has been wasting his breaks in the morning and in between classes and such by either hiding in the library—sometimes with Bruce, sometimes alone—or doing some sort of outside activity for the past few days. It’s been extremely boring and uneventful but good for his physical strength, so that's that. Clint made himself scarce unless he was alone or hanging out with Natasha, so he hasn't been around that often during the nights and the meals, which Tony spends at a random table with random kids. Carol still talks with him, but she has her own friends and jobs to do. Even Mr. Asshole (Stephen Strange, Tony learned on the second day) has left him alone for the most part. Well, except when Stephen wanted to pick a fight over tiny things--‘_Your book is on my side of the dresser, Stark. That's not how you handle honeycomb, Stark. Stark! Go away! Your face is pissing me off_’--and such. It's been lonely, as much as Tony refuses to admit aloud. He misses Rhodey and Pep and his family. God, even seeing _Howard_ would be better than no one at all. 

  
  


He’ll ask Carol about a visitor's day later. 

  
  


“So…” Tony drawls after a few silent minutes. Patience has never been one of his strong suits. “Is there a reason you prowled over here? You and your buddies have avoided me like I’m a pile of dog shit in the middle of the park since that whole ordeal on Monday.” 

  
  


Natasha grimaces, eyes darting towards him and then down to the extremely green grass beneath them. Do they fucking spraypaint it? Jesus. “About that. I actually came over to apologize. I didn’t know Steve was going to snap at you like that and it wasn’t okay that I stood back and let it happen. Also, I should have approached you right after dinner...but you’re a pretty hard person to catch for someone who’s so well known.” 

  
  


“Sure,” Tony says, swallowing down the angry words bubbling in his throat with a wince. Behave, his inner Jarvis chides with that ever gentle tone. “Whatever. It is what it is. È quello che è. The past is in the past. Blah blah blah.”

  
  


Natasha’s grimace mellows into a frown and she takes the liberty to change the topic after a long, awkward moment of silence. “Still.” 

  
  


“Is that all?” 

  
  


“I heard you got a warning from Fury,” is what she offers up for a new conversation. She loves having the inside scoop, Tony muses. 

  
  


While he’s here pretending to be nice, he might as well indulge her. “_Yep_.” 

  
  


“For what? He usually doesn’t call kids to his office.” 

  
  


“Skipping movie night. It’s apparently a crime around these parts to disappear for a couple minutes. How am I not surprised?”

  
  


A smile quirks at the corner of Natasha’s lips. “You aren't scared of him?” she observed. “Most of the new kids don’t have the luxury of saying the same.” 

  
  


“Ohhh no. You must be mistaken! I’m quivering in my boots!” Tony dramatically shivered, clutching his chest. “He’s so terrifying! I can—I can practically hear him saying ‘_argh matey!_’ from here!” 

  
  


It’s not very difficult to see why kids would be afraid of Fury. The man practically oozes authority. But Tony has seen way worse—been through worse— to ever bow down and take the man as seriously as everyone else does. He’s not a little dog who will submit at the nearest sight of danger. 

  
  


She chuckles.“Don't let him hear you mocking him like that. There will be hell to pay if he does.” There’s a hint of warning in her voice, as if she’s seen what will happen up close. 

  
  


“Sure,” he drawls. “What the fuck is he going to do? Send me home? Take away my movie privileges? Shiver me timbers!” 

  
  


She shrugs. “Maybe, but I’d still watch out.” 

  
  


Tony gives her a _look_ and she continues. 

  
  


“I’m just saying,” She says, picking at the deep red nail polish on her fingernails. “But you can ignore my warning if you really want to.” 

  
  


“Don’t you worry your red little head—I wasn't even considering taking your ‘warning’ seriously,” He rolls his eyes. Natasha gives him a knowing little smile and he hops up to his feet in a swift motion. “Alright i'm going to take my leave. I have some pills to pop and people to piss off.” 

  
  


A second later, they’re eye to eye. “Sit with me at the fire later, will you? I want to introduce you to a friend of mine and speak about the capture the flag game tomorrow.” The redhead says and turns to leave. 

  
  


“Capture the flag?” Tony asks her back, confusion lacing his expression. 

  
  


Natasha smiles at him from over her shoulder, already a good couple yards away. “Yep. You’re on my team. I signed you up yesterday.” 

  
  


What the fuck? “What the fuck? No!!” Tony yells. She keeps walking. Pretending to ignore him. “Hey, there is absolutely no fucking way Im playing fucking capture the flag with you!! What is with everyone signing me up to things against my will!” 

  
  


Tony throws his hands in the air and lets out a stream of curses, but she’s already too far to hear his anger. A few of the soccer players are watching him warily. 

  
  


Turning on his heel, fists clenched, all he can do is slump his shoulders on the way to the showers. 

  
  


God. Why is this his life?

  
  


•|• 

  
  


“Capture the flag? What about it?” 

  
  


Tony sighs dramatically. “I’m apparently on a team effective yesterday, thanks to your dear friend Natasha and her ulterior motives,” He mutters the last part, finally closing the book he has been trying to read for the past five minutes and placing it on the table in front of him. 

  
  


“That’s funny,” Bruce looks up at him with an evil, evil smile. 

  
  


“No it’s not!” Tony groans. “Come on, man. Just tell me what she’s getting me into.” 

  
  


“Well, what do you want to know?” 

  
  


“Why is everyone talking about it? I only heard about it today but since this morning it seems like _everyone_ is screeching about how excited they are.” He doesn’t quite see the appeal. 

  
  


Bruce hums as if in thought, tapping his finger against the page he’s reading. “Okay. So, once a week, usually Sunday, there’s a camp wide tournament that happens all day. This week isn’t, though, since it’s only the third week of camp. Parents who visit come to watch and everything. Sometimes they play, too. Uh, the game being played tends to switch every week,” he says. “It’s pretty popular amongst the campers because of the prize, I guess.” 

  
  


“Great!!”

  
  


Tony sighs again, slumping in the cushioned seat. 

  
  


•|• 

  
  


Later, Tony picks at the skin around his nails, wishing he could paint them or something while he walks to the firepit closest to the lake, the one being used for tonight. They look so _boring_. Maybe he can sneak some off of Carol or even Natasha, once he convinces her to trust him enough. Howard would hate that. Perfect. 

  
  


Said blondey is walking happily beside him, going on about something that happened earlier, which he has no urge to react to. Ever since he told her about the whole Natasha thing she promised to sit with them to deescalate any not so preferable situations—along with stating it would be ‘good for him’ and he could ‘get along better with the other kids’. Jeez it’s like she’s his mother. 

  
  


“—you know?” Carol suddenly asks, grinning down at him. 

  
  


Tony stares at her blankly. “Huh?” 

  
  


“Aha! I knew you weren’t listening, you little brat.”

  
  


“Was I supposed to be?” 

  
  


Carol reaches over to him and quickly yanks his hood over his head, playfully ruffling his hair through the fabric.

  
  


Tony squawks in outrage, swatting her hand away. “Fuck off! You’re screwing up my hair!” She finally lets go, laughing, and he pulls his hood back to fix his unruly curls with a scowl. They weren’t really styled anyway—but it’s the thought that counts! They _could_ have been. 

  
  


She lifts her hand and pushes his own aside to tousle some of his hair. “Fluffy! It feels like a little kitten,” Carol says, grinning down at him. Curse her for being taller than him.

  
  


“Wow. Thank you so much,” Tony rolls his eyes, giving her another second to run her hands through his now apparently fluffy hair before ducking away. 

  
  


Usually, he would have access to high quality products to tame the thick head of hair, but Howard made him leave his carry-on bag filled with them at home to have the full experience, or learn to be humble, or _whatever_. It doesn’t really matter the lesson Howard is trying to teach him by not allowing him to style his hair. He’s already learned enough here, goddammit, now it’s about time for the joke to be over. Tony’s still half waiting for Ashton Kutcher to burst through the bushes and tell him he’s on Punk’d. Even _John Quiñones_ would make sense with all of the insane situations he’s already been in. 

  
  


Someone’s testing his patience, for sure. 

  
  


“You’re welcome,” Carol says, winking at him. 

  
  


They finally approach the fire, Tony letting Carol guide him over to Natasha as he rakes his fingers through his poofy hair to tease it into a style that looks purposefully tousled. Thank his mother for genetically thick hair—it usually stays in whatever position he puts it in, which helps a ton. But after all this trouble, and lack of gel, he’s a little tempted to grab a pair of scissors and chop some off. It’s getting a little too long for his usual preferences.

  
  


“Natasha!” Carol exclaims, dragging Tony behind her and gently pushing him down to sit across from Natasha. She sits next to him. 

  
  


Tony looks up when his ass hits the surprisingly comfortable sand (a blanket, his mind supplies), crossing his legs and dropping his hands in the process. His jaw drops too. “Strange?” The shock sounds a little too obvious, so he speedily makes a face to switch it into annoyance. 

  
  


Someone is _seriously_ testing his patience. 

  
  


Stephen scowls at him in response. “Stark,” He grits out. 

  
  


The two girls look between them in a combination of surprise and amusement, sharing some super secret silent words when they meet eyes. Tony wants to just sigh and fall backwards, hopefully hitting his head on a perfectly placed rock to knock him out, then his parents would come pick him up and he could flip this place off as he drives into the sunset. But _no_. All he does is turn his attention to their surroundings. 

  
  


The massive bonfire is being contained in a wide circular fire pit made from large rocks a couple yards away, close enough to feel the lick of heat on his face, but far enough to not be too overwhelmed by the light or warmth. A decent amount of campers are littered across the beachside on logs or blankets, or on the sand, some by the fire accidentally burning their s’mores. It’s still tepid enough so it’s not quite necessary to be huddled by the firepit or bundled in layers, the pleasant breeze the only cause for many other campers to also be donning hoodies or loose pajama pants. 

  
  


“You two know each other?” Natasha questions, looking about three seconds from laughing at their harsh greetings. 

  
  


Strange rolls his eyes. “You could say that,” he deadpans, staring over at the brunet a few feet away as if he’s irked just by his existence in the first place.

  
  


Tony twists his fingers between the polyester blend of his shorts and glares. “Oh, shut up, will you?” Then, he turns to the girls. “Our beds are right smack dab next to each other and we met in beekeeping—Wow. I never even questioned why that’s a class in the first place. And I couldn’t even answer it if I did. It makes absolutely and totally no sense to me. Especially considering this is a summer camp, not a—“

  
  


“Don’t tell me to shut up if you’re going to ramble like the imbecile you are,” Stephen interrupts. 

  
  


Tony has half a mind to catch himself before he’s grateful that the asshole prevented him from making a fool of himself by going on a useless tangent. _No liking the enemy, Tony! _

  
  


“Don’t interrupt me if you’re going to throw insults at me like the shit stirrer you are,” Tony snaps back, leaning closer so Stephen can see his dangerous glare in the light of the fire. “Or take your fucking spoon somewhere else.” 

  
  


As Stephen too leans closer, the fire (_that traitor_) reflects off of the beautiful shades of his eyes and highlights the attractive features of his face. 

  
  


As Carol pulls Tony back by the shoulder, Natasha butts in just before Stephen can snarl out whatever he was about to say, both girls making a very smart combo move. 

  
  


“Well, there goes my plan to introduce you two and initiate the start of a very chaotic and beautiful friendship down the drain,” Natasha jokes. “I really didn’t expect you two to already hate each other.” 

  
  


“Me neither,” Carol agrees, then tilts her head in thought. “Though, both of you _are_ in the same cabin. I should’ve noticed.” 

  
  


His mind catches on one specific thing. Chaotic? How so? Stephen seems like too much of a stick in the mud to be someone who would gladly wreak mischief and light the land on fire with Tony, like all of his other friends. But he might be wrong. So of course, he doesn’t voice his opinions, because it can’t seem like he underestimated someone just because they pissed him off. Jeez, now he has to pay attention to Stephen's behavior to figure him out! How ridiculous. 

  
  


Another question pops into mind and he sticks with that. “He’s not going to be playing capture the flag with us, right?” Tony asks and adds in a narrow eyed look towards the other boy for emphasis. 

  
  


Natasha shakes her head, opening her mouth to answer, but Stephen beats her to it. “_God_ no,” he scoffs. “Capture the flag? Please. I wouldn’t waste my energy on something so fruitless unless there was a gun to my head.” 

  
  


Tony lets out a soft snort at that, trying not to smirk at the confusion and slight bewilderment on the others face. “Of course you wouldn't, your majesty. Sweating is probably a foreign concept to you.” 

  
  


“Like you’re one to talk!” Carol pokes him in the shoulder, causing Natasha to chuckle. 

  
  


“Yeah, the last I heard, you were shouting at me ‘_there is absolutely no fucking way_’ that you were playing.” 

  
  


Tony gapes. Then, Natasha turns to Stephen, switching up her victims so no one is left unscathed like the beautiful devil she is. 

  
  


“And don’t act all high and mighty, Strange, I know for sure you love to play in the games every week. Don’t think last year escaped my memory, Mr. Ace of the winning capture the flag team.”

  
  


Its Stephens turn to gape and turn a lovely shade of light pink as he protests, “That was—_wait_ were you watching me last year? You never talked to me except for that one time! That’s super creepy, Romanoff, even for your standards.” 

  
  


“Ace?!” Tony asks excitedly, grinning and leaning forward by pushing off his knees. “You were Ace of the _winning_ team? The capture the flag team? And _now_ you’re mocking it? That’s hilarious! I have to tell someone. Oh god—does everyone already know? Does Clint know? He would _love_ this!” 

  
  


“Shut up, Stark!” Stephen growls at him. “I’ll throw your mattress in the pond tonight, I _swear to god_!” 

  
  


“No way, Ace!” The girls are laughing enough to make Tony involuntarily crack a wide smile, but he quickly smothers it down and tilts his head. “Hmm. Why aren’t you playing this year, then? Not enough friends for a team?” 

  
  


“None of your fucking business!” he snaps, rising to his feet. “Okay! I’m done here. Goodnight, Carol, Natasha.” 

  
  


Tony is left watching Stephen all but run away, super confused. He must have struck a seriously juicy and vulnerable nerve. Maybe Stephen _doesn’t_ have friends. God, Tony barely has ‘friends’ (but he doesn’t want them here, that’s the thing), so he’s not in the position to poke fun of anyone else for their lack of loyal followers. 

  
  


“Uh.” Tony says elegantly, looking to the girls for help. Carol gives him a sympathetic, knowing frown. Natasha is gazing at where Stephen disappeared. 

  
  


“Last year, something happened. He left camp early,” Carol explains. “When he came back this year, he was mean to everyone...even more so than he was last year. People started returning the favor.” 

  
  


Natasha sighs. “That’s a nice way to say that nobody likes him anymore.” 

  
  


Oh _shit_. That explained a lot. The pissed off looks sent towards Stephen during class, that always nearly empty cafeteria table, those snide insults—the ones Tony always heard hissed past the others lips directed at all the boys who came near the two of them. Now...well, now Tony feels a little bad for snarking back as badly as he did. Just a little, though. He won’t change the way he treats Stephen just because he _feels bad. _

  
  


“Well, save for his friends Wong, Christine, and that kid Peter.” 

  
  


“And us,” Carol adds. “Of course.” 

  
  


“Clint?” Tony asks. If Clint could like him, he could like Stephen, too. 

  
  


Natasha shrugs, waving her hand. “Clint likes anyone he thinks is funny.” 

  
  


He frowns to himself and nods, glancing quickly at the opening leading to the rest of the camp. Curiosity itches at the edge of his mind to find out what _exactly_ happened. “Okay.” 

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Capture the...wait what were we supposed to be doing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capture the flag! 
> 
> Orange vs Blue   
Tony vs his haters
> 
> Who will win? 
> 
> Nobody. Everyone loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo quick update! This chapter was extremely easy to write for me sooo I hope it’s good. I don’t know. I’m supposed to be writing two essays right now. 
> 
> Once again! Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Love you all <3

_Saturday 10:20 pm _

_Rhodeybear - how’s summer camp, loser? I’m on a boat _

_Attachment: one image_

_Tony - wow you look So Cool _

_Tony - but you better give that yacht back before the owner notices that it's gone and reports it as stolen. It’d be a shame if they caught you :/_

_Rhodeybear - haha very funny. you know I wouldn’t get caught. _

_Rhodeybear- I swear you have a curfew. shouldn’t your phone be tucked away at this time? _

_Tony - ughhhhh don't remind me. everyone else is drooling into their pillows _

_Rhodeybear - it sounds like you drugged them_

_Tony - ;) _

_Rhodeybear - aww my little criminal _

_Tony - you know it, babe. speaking of criminals when are you coming back to civilization? or have you decided to move and change your identity? _

_Rhodeybear - two days. I could never leave you behind. you wouldn’t survive without me _

_Tony - facts I can feel my sense of humor being sucked out of me with what feels like a comically large straw without all your dry wit here _

  
  


•|• 

  
  


“Huh?” 

  
  


Tony blinks, pulling at the too big and obnoxiously bright blue pinny draped loosely across his complementary grey camp shirt he cut to fit him better, and looking up at Carol with a blank, spaced out look until she repeats herself. 

  
  


“You’re on defense right now.” 

  
  


He throws his head back and groans loudly. “Carol! _Carol_—this is a _practice_ round. Why are you taking it so seriously? Can we just sit down and relax and wait for the real game to start later? Oh, that sounds wonderful. Let’s do it.” 

  
  


“Nope. We’re winning this godforsaken game and you need the practice,” Carol shakes her head, though she’s smiling a bit. “C'mon it’ll wake you up. You look exhausted.” 

  
  


“I’m not exhausted. And I don’t need the practice! You don’t know what I need, _Carol_.” 

  
  


Okay, so maybe he is exhausted. And maybe he should’ve gotten more than four hours of sleep. But she doesn’t need to know that. Or that the reason _why_ he slept so little is because he spent a majority of the night texting his best friends that he missed more than anything (besides his mom, _obviously_). It first started with just Rhodey, but then an hour or so later Pepper got back from dinner and they moved their conversation to the groupchat, where it spiraled and they all lost track of time. 

  
  


Originally, Tony felt bad for ruining his friends' nights, but Rhodey didn’t seem to mind much that he was wasting boat time and claimed that his duty of fishing could be temporarily handed over to his sister. Pepper simply said ‘shut up Tony’ and continued with the conversation. So that was that. 

  
  


How could he know that he would be tired in the morning anyway? He doesn’t have psychic abilities. It would be cool if he did, though. 

  
  


Carol snorts, and that’s all she does to acknowledge his claim, gesturing to the area she wants him to be. He moves—of course—but not without making his annoyance known by all with a few loud curses and another groan. 

  
  


The other players on their team completely ignore him, other than Clint, who grins in Tony’s direction, and Natasha, who smirks a little and keeps her eyes straight on their ‘opponents’. Opponents being Steve, Bucky, Sam, and the twins without pinnies staring at the flag behind Tony. They’re split into two, the teams turning into the said six and then Carol, Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Thor. Ten player requirement. The kid called Scott apparently wanted to play with his other friends, so that’s why Tony is being forced to play. 

  
  


Tony feels like shifting in front of it out of discomfort with how hungry their ‘opponents’ eyes look. They’re practically _drooling_. 

  
  


Carol blows a whistle and Steve and Pietro come booking it towards Tony and he automatically steps out of the way because _damn_ they’re both extremely fast, and he’s not planning on putting all his effort into some pointless practice game at nine in the morning on a Sunday. 

  
  


Pietro grabs the flag, Clint just barely missing before the silver haired boy jumps across to safety. 

  
  


“Alright Tony, thank you for demonstrating what _not_ to do,” Carol announces, pretending to glare at him. “Try again!” 

  
  


•|• 

“Fuck you.” 

  
  


“Excuse me?” 

  
  


Tony rolls his eyes at Stephen when the other finally looks up from his book. “For not playing,” he elaborates. “If you were playing on the other team I would have a reason to actually play so I could kick your ass. Instead, I don’t have any cool rivals to beat, I’m stuck on a lame team, and you get to sit in the shade and not melt into the turf like a human popsicle.” 

  
  


“Cool rivals?” Stephen repeats, sounding a second away from either vacating this shady spot under the tree to get away or cracking a massive grin. Tony pretends it’s the latter for the sake of his ego. “Shouldn’t you over there be getting ready to play?” He asks mockingly as he waves over to Carol and the rest of the team. 

  
  


“Fuck you,” Tony runs a hand through his hair. Too long. He needs an elastic or something. “I’ll be back to harass you, Strange, once I win. Don’t get too comfortable,” are his parting words before he jogs back to where he’s supposed to be. 

  
  


“There you are!” Clint claps him on the shoulder, shaking it a little. “You ready? Excited?”

  
  


“I'm more than ready,” Tony drawls sarcastically with the blankest face he can muster. “I’m so ready that I dreamed about us taking the win right from under their noses because they started off strong and had a decent amount of points, which caused them to get cocky enough that we could catch up last minute. The perfect underdog story or whatever.” 

  
  


As soon as he finished speaking, a loud voice boomed over the speaker facing the field, “Orange and blue team please take the field,” and the two teams moved to the grass. 

  
  


“That’s super specific, man. I’m a little convinced you actually did dream about that,” the blond cackles. 

  
  


Tony rolls his eyes hard enough to fall out of his skull. “If you were listening, I just told you that _was_ my dream, idiot,” he scoffs and kicks at the ground, sending little pieces of dirt and grass scattering up and away from his foot. It really wasn’t his dream, but he likes to play along and be persistent enough that it confuses people to not know whether he was/is joking or not. It’s very fun. 

  
  


Right before the whistle blows and Clint books it the field towards the orange flag hanging limp and low on a metal rod stuck into a wide flat stand keeping it up, Tony spots a puzzled look on the other boy's face and tries not to laugh. 

  
  


And that’s where Tony’s awareness of a good chunk, maybe five minutes, of the first round ended and his attention span stopped working. Yes, extremely disappointing, but it’s also extremely easy to let the rest of the team do all the work like guard the line and playing offense, while all he had to do is protect the flag—which he did flawlessly, might he add. He stopped the three entire kids who lunged at the blue fabric and sent them to jail. All was well. 

  
  


Until, of course, everyone but Steve, Natasha, and Tony were in jail. 

  
  


“Shit!” Natasha swears, tagging another orange player out. They were coming at them like annoying little flies, diving to tag their teammates out and coming for the flag all at once, easily overwhelming the trio in numbers. Tony had already stopped a ton of kids. “We need a plan!” 

  
  


“I’ll go!” Steve calls. 

  
  


“No! Tony, you do it!” 

  
  


Do what? 

  
  


Tony turns around to push another kid away from the pole, not so lightly shoving him in the process. The other team could have probably grabbed the flag by now if they all ran as a group, but instead they were moving in slight intervals one or two at a time so their attacking is decently flawed. All they needed to take back their players was someone to take one for the team and run for the jail. 

  
  


Ohhhhh _that’s_ what they want him to do. 

  
  


“What? No! I’m protecting the flag!” 

  
  


“I’ll do that!” In a moment, Steve is right beside him. “Go, man. I trust Nat and she trusts you.” 

  
  


“It’s capture the flag,” Tony says slowly. “It’s not that deep.” 

  
  


“Go!” 

  
  


The brunet huffs and takes off to the line. A couple of the orange players are watching him as he moves closer, but he ignores them. Who is the best to tag out? He needs someone fast, who will actually be willing to listen and help him empty the jail. Pietro is fast, so he could easily be quick enough for the job, but he’s a little too eager to snatch the flag, and a little too impatient to run back and forth from the line to the cones trapping their team. Sam would want to go back and help Steve. Thor is fast, but not the fastest. Same with Carol. Wanda doesn’t really like him enough to follow his lead. 

  
  


Bucky. 

  
  


Wow, why the hell is he thinking so much about a game? 

  
  


Tony grins at the boy in front of him that he recognises from somewhere. Kallen is his name, maybe? Killian? Kellen? Whatever. “Hey….” he trails off. 

  
  


“Aldrich Killian,” Killian helpfully supplies with a nasty glare hidden behind a smile that tells Tony he already hates his guts. 

  
  


“Killian, right,” Tony nods, looking up at the bigger boy. “I’m gonna have to get by you, you know? No hard feelings.” 

  
  


Killian rolls his eyes. God, what did he ever do to this kid? He tries to recall being an asshole to this particular boy. Yeah, nothing. 

  
  


Oh, well. “I’ll see you later.” 

  
  


Tony moves right, letting Killian stumble when he suddenly swerves left and runs past him, just missing the hand reaching in his direction. The path to the jail is clear so he goes straight up to Bucky, hopping into the cones and hiding behind the bigger brunet so the orange players don’t see him clearly enough to grab him. 

  
  


“You have to help me tag everyone else out,” Tony explains hurriedly. “We’ll keep going back and forth. Carol and Sam next, alright?” 

  
  


Bucky shrugs, an amused smirk tugging at his serious expression. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say.” 

  
  


Tony taps his shoulder and they hurry back to the line on their free walk before immediately twisting and doubling back towards the jail once they hit the white strip in the middle of the field. Bucky gets Sam, so Tony gets Carol, who gives him a really knowing and pleased smile as they go back. 

  
  


“Come with us,” Tony tells Carol, watching Sam swerve towards Steve and Natasha, who are frantically but effectively protecting the obnoxiously bright flag of theirs. 

  
  


“Yes, sir!” Carol jokes before following. 

  
  


Orange players are starting to guard the jail now. That’s a problem. All three of them might get tagged. The kids are scattered and facing mostly one direction, though, distracted enough that only one person is in the path of the clementine colored fabric, and the offense is too busy trying to rescue their own players or running to the blue flag to notice either. An opening. 

  
  


Tony switches his path. He isn’t Pietro, but he’s quick and small and all he has to do is put a target on his back to cause a diversion so the jail gets abandoned in favor of not losing the first round. 

  
  


Just like he thought, he soon has more than half the orange team on his tail. 

  
  


“Fucking move!” Tony shouts at the somewhat timid looking kid by the pole as he gets closer, effectively startling him in order to give himself a short stretch of time to snatch the cloth as he passes. 

  
  


He makes it across, listening to a few others yelling at the timid boy for letting him get away as he ascends to safety. 

  
  


_Whew_. 

  
  


“Tony!” Carol cheers. The whistle blows. A couple of his teammates pat him on the back or give him hesitant smiles. He gives the flag back to Killian with a grin. The whistle blows again. Round two starts. 

  
  


There are five rounds total. Blue team wins the first two, orange team wins the third. Tony is placed on offense for the second two. 

  
  


Soon, he falls into a little trace and allows himself to shut off his mind and hyperfocus on playing a simple, easy game. 

  
  


It’s good. 

  
  


_Until it isn’t. _

  
  


Really, he isn’t sure how it happens. He’s literally just standing there and—_boom_ an elbow cracks against his face and then he’s kneeling, covering his nose as the whistle blows to indicate that the game is paused. 

  
  


“Oh, _sorry_!” Killian gasps, crouching down in front of him. “I really, honestly didn’t see you in front of me. You’re just so short.” 

  
  


Tony tilts his glare up to see, cradling his own face. Blood seeps through the crack in his fingers. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Someone is touching his back, asking him if he’s okay. He doesn’t look back at them as he pushes the hands away. 

  
  


“I didn’t see you,” Killian insists. Orange and blue mix together, watching to see what is going to happen, subconsciously making a circle around the pair, obscuring the view of the other counselors heading towards them so something _can_ happen. 

  
  


Yes he totally, blatantly did. No one could miss the blue of Tony’s pinny from a goddamn mile away. So, he does what anyone else who was just elbowed in the face for no reason would do before he’s sent to the nurse. 

  
  


He makes something happen. 

  
  


He rocks back onto his feet and pushes against Killians shoulders to pretend he was using him to help, and when he’s shoved back, he digs against the ground again, and punches with the upwards and forward momentum before he’s fully up on his feet. To an outsider, it would look like he’s defending himself. Which he is in the first place, but some people might use Killians ‘apology’ against him or something. 

  
  


The kids around them jeer, a chorus of ‘ooh’s and shock ringing out across the group. 

  
  


“You little _bastard_!” Killian curses, bringing a hand to his rapidly bruising cheek. He understands why Tony used him to get up now, anger flaming in his eyes, blood rushing to his face and turning him red like he’s on fire. Then he lunges. 

  
  


Tony tries to push the other off him, but he’s too small and has both height and weight against him and his arms are pinned over his head. Fingers squeeze his wrists so tightly he thinks they might snap. Killian gets one, two, three, _four_ blows in, moving for a fifth until Tony finally snaps out of it and uses his own strength to pin the other boy's arm as it comes toward him and grab the back of his shirt with his other hand. Campers and counselors and yelling alike—most of the campers want him to lose. They’re reaching, trying to pull them apart. 

  
  


“Let go of me!” Tony grounds out, the hands go away. 

  
  


He steps on Killians leg hard and rolls, flipping them over in a swift movement his old sensei taught him when he had to learn martial arts after his parents noticed how much smaller he was than other kids his age. Before Killian can attempt to copy the move, Tony jumps off and rears his foot up to plant a hard kick into Killians crotch. He learned that from sensei, too. 

  
  


The circle breaks and Killian is grabbed by Peter Quill, Thor, and Pietro, and pulled to safety (for him or Tony? He’s not sure) before he recovers from the cheap but effective shot. Clint and Carol gently push Tony back just in case he decides he actually _would_ like to get hit again and goes back for more. 

  
  


Tony wipes at his face with his good hand, which by now is slick with blood. He licks his lips and doesn’t pay attention to the tangy taste. It stings. His lip is split. Cheek, too. He shakes away from the hold he’s in and steps into Killians sight. No one gets in his way. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” He spits, and grabs his nose again to stop the blood from ruining his expensive shoes. He wonders what kind of sight he makes right now. 

  
  


“Yo, here,” Clint hands him something, helping him push it against his face, guiding him away from the gathering. A few pairs of footsteps follow them. “What the hell was that?” He asks, once they’re a good distance away. 

  
  


Tony doesn’t know. 

  
  


“Dunno.” He shrugs. 

  
  


That weird, all encompassing pressure that had been slowly building up in his chest all week is gone, though, so he actually feels a bit better than before he got his ass kicked, but he could really use a nap or ten. 

  
  


“You could’ve gotten him back!” Clint says while squeezing his fist and miming a jabbing motion. “But you got off and instead just kicked him in the balls. _Super_ boring, dude.” 

  
  


“He did the right thing and broke the fight up himself before it got too far.” Carol says, frowning over at Clint. He sheepishly rubs his neck and she turns to Tony. “You could’ve hit him back at least once before getting off, though.” 

  
  


“Only fair,” Natasha adds. She’s staring at the shirt pressed to his face. 

  
  


Tony looks around to find where the shirt came from, noticing Steve hovering awkwardly a couple feet away, shirtless. They make eye contact and both look away after a few long, painful seconds. 

  
  


He shakes his head, moving the shirt slightly away from his mouth to speak. “One is enough for me.” 

  
  


Someone else speaks up: “Yeah. That first punch was good enough to make Killians brain rock against his skull. I say it’s good you didn’t throw any more. Mighta caused the dick brain damage.” Bucky whistles. “Where’d ya learn to fight like that?” 

  
  


“Yeah, man. You gotta teach me!” Clint says excitedly. 

  
  


Does it matter? Tony is about to ask, but another voice surprises the hell out of him. 

  
  


“Hey! Tilt your head _down_, dumbass!” 

  
  


Before he can react, Stephen grabs his head and gently but forcefully tilts down so he’s staring at the grass. Right. Head down. How could he forget? The boys around them make a variety of surprised sounds. 

  
  


“Strange? You know Tony?” Clint asks. The hand holding his head leaves and Tony sneaks a quick glance up to see pink dusting Stephen’s high cheekbones. 

  
  


“You could say that,” Stephen answers stiffly. “We—“ 

  
  


“Stark!” 

  
  


Every single camper freezes, except Tony, at the sound of Fury’s, well, furious voice carrying across the field over a megaphone. He’s standing at the edge of the field, gripping the speaker tightly. A few of the councilors are standing near him looking three seconds from pissing themselves. They must’ve gone to get him. 

  
  


Snitches. 

  
  


_“Get to the nurse! Then come to my office immediately, you hear me? Killian, you too. Make it quick!” _

  
  


A shrill sound echoes before Fury hands the megaphone back to a lanky looking kid and storms off. The talking resumes slowly. 

  
  


“Fucker,” Tony blurts, directing the little group's eyes to him. He pulls the shirt away and ignores the protests from Stephen as he keeps his head up. “Bye, I guess, I have to go walk the plank or something as a punishment. I hope I get kicked out.” 

  
  


“You won’t,” Natasha quips. 

  
  


“Stop tearing down my hope and dreams, red.” 

  
  


Clint taps his shoulder. “You should get to the nurse. Your blood is quite literally soaking through that shirt. It looks like you’ve been stabbed, or something.” He puts the shirt back against his nose. 

  
  


“Stephen will take him,” Natasha offers, loudly. “He’s nice like that.” 

  
  


Stephen grits his teeth. He doesn’t object to the idea. 

  
  


“I’ll go, too,” Carol pipes up, hooking her arms through both Stephen and Tony’s and walking them away from the group. She let’s go once they’re off the field. 

  
  


Tony hears Stephen mutter a few curses and grins behind the fabric. “Told you not to get too comfortable,” he snarks to the taller boy. 

  
  


Stephen scowls and pushes Tony’s head down firmly in response. “Head down.” 

  
  
  



	8. We need a medic in here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while.... 
> 
> How is everyone? I’m alright, if a little iffy. I got upset about how the story is going and thought about deleting but I’ll fix it and keep writing when I can
> 
> Have a good day! Love you all <3

The bleeding stops about halfway to the nurse. 

  
  


To wipe the blood off, Tony uses the shirt to scrub his face. He’s basically flat out ignoring Stephen and Carol, but neither seems to mind, chatting leisurely about some meaningless topic, while Tony’s mind is too tired to translate the conversation into actual words in order to participate. 

  
  


The talking pauses, and Tony comes back to focus as Stephen suddenly addresses him. “Your nose has stopped bleeding?” 

  
  


“_Uh-Huh_,” Tony says, only slightly mocking, draping the ruined shirt over his shoulder. Hopefully Steve doesn’t mind some blood if he wants it back. 

  
  


Stephen nods, a single terse jerk of his head, before turning back to Carol to continue whatever conversation they were having. Tony absentmindedly dances his fingers along his knuckles and licks his bottom lip as he goes over the events that just happened in his head again, staring at the brown packed dirt they walk on. 

  
  


He can’t answer the question of why he punched Killian. It’s not something he would normally do. It was out of character for him. Well, not _totally_, but enough to be concerned about. 

  
  


After however long of getting trapped in his own mind—they finally approach the building connected to the front office—the nurses office—and step up the wood stairs. Carol, who is first, pushes open the door for the two boys. 

  
  


“Hey, Dr. Cho,” Carol calls, holding the door wide and nodding for them to go in. Stephen steps back, pointedly not looking at Tony until the shorter boy gets the hint and goes in first. He does, of course, giving Stephen a wag of his eyebrows and a wide grin. Stephen scowls at him. 

  
  


From somewhere past the quality cots and real medical equipment, Dr. Cho yells for them to sit down for a second. It’s an actual Doctors office—which totally shocked Tony when he first came here on the second day. All he expected was some rinky dink nurses office with the bare minimums of a first aid kit and a couple ice packs. Instead, they get an actual Doctor (a geneticist with a medical degree on a break, still qualified to do this) and a few assistant nurses who come and go on random schedules like wandering but helpful ghosts.

  
  


Tony hoists himself up on one of the cots before continuing to rub at his fist, pushing into his knuckles so they sting with a barely there dull ache. It helps him ground himself to think better. Carol and Stephen take the two cushioned seats by the bed and their eyes drift around to take in their surroundings. 

  
  


Carol breaks the silence. Again. Maybe it is a good thing that she decided to tag along. Him and Stephen probably would’ve played the quiet game on their way here. “It’s always so clean in here,” she says, tapping her foot on the spotless floor. 

  
  


“Of course it is,” Stephen says. “Did you think there were going to be rats and cockroaches scurrying around?” 

  
  


She just grins at him as if she wanted to make him snark, and Tony instinctively lets out a small chuckle at Stephens annoyed scoff. 

  
  


“I would hope not,” Dr. Cho rounds the corner, shucking off a pair of blue latex gloves and tossing them in the closed off trash. “I shouldn’t be surprised it’s you in here.” She says as she rinses off her hands. 

  
  


Tony nods, voice a bit rough. “Did you miss me?” 

  
  


“Who wouldn’t?” She walks over to stand in front of him, nodding towards the other two teens in the chairs before looking back to Tony, analyzing his face. “Ms. Danvers, Mr. Strange. How are you two?” She says. 

  
  


“Fine, and you?” Stephen replies, voice tight, and obviously trying not to comment on her previous statement. Carol says something too before he loses his self control. 

  
  


“Im good. How are you?” 

  
  


“Just fine. I’m currently taking care of a little brat who can’t keep his hands to himself.” 

  
  


Tony winces. Ouch. A blue glove reaches over and gently pulls his lip away from his teeth, then moves to separate his hands and turn them to see the forming bruises. She doesn’t say anything, but when they meet eyes he can see a silent worry hiding behind them. He lets her reach up and turn his head to look at his cheeks. 

  
  


Dr. Cho pulls a wet cloth and a hand mirror from nowhere and hands them to him. “Wipe your face,” she orders, snatching the shirt off his shoulder and walking to toss it into the trash. Well, too bad for Steve, he guesses. He does what he’s told, holding up the mirror for a better view, and she’s back in a second with a plethora of supplies. “I’m surprised you brought your little Fanclub along. Were you two there for the fight?”

  
  


“Yeah, it was during a capture the flag game,” Carol answers, her and Stephen watching the doctor and patient with a silent curiosity. 

  
  


“Capture the flag?” Dr. Cho looks amused. Of _course_ she does. 

  
  


“How’d you know I was fighting? Is it that obvious?” Tony asks, scrubbing the cloth around his neck a little rougher before stopping and placing the mirror down. Clean enough. She grabs the cloth from him. 

  
  


Stephen rolls his eyes, answering for all three of them. “Unless you’re blind or stupid, its a struggle to _not_ notice you got your ass kicked. Which you did, by the way, don’t try denying it.” 

  
  


Tony glares, hard. “Maybe I lost to that idiot, but I would beat you in a second,” he spits. 

  
  


“No, you would _not_.”

  
  


“Yes I would, skeletor.” 

  
  


“Have you seen him? He’s ripped, so I would win.” 

  
  


“Oh _shut up_,” Tony groans. “You’re so annoying.”

  
  


“_Right_,” Dr. Cho says, interrupting them both. Stephen falls silent, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw. “Let’s change the subject before I have yet _another_ teen boy to look after.” 

  
  


Carol laughs. “Good idea. You two are something else.” 

  
  


“That’s what makes me special,” Tony makes a sound, moving away from the disinfectant wipe pressed against his cheek. After a moment of avoiding her, she sighs. 

  
  


“Fine, then. You can do it yourself,” Dr. Cho hands him the wipe and gestures to his cheekbone. She leans back and watches him dutifully clean the cut, making sure he does it right, which he does, obviously, and then takes the wipe to get a swab of neosporin for his cheek. “I heard from Fury, by the way.” 

  
  


That makes sense. Tony doesn’t say anything else and turns his head for better access for the antibacterial, feet swinging gently. His eyes drift to Stephen, who’s already watching him lazily. The other boy has a blank expression, and after a moment he doesn’t make an effort for conversation or another argument, so Tony looks over to Carol instead. She smiles at him, a little quirk of her lips. He sticks his tongue out. 

  
  


“Has Killian come around?” Tony asks the doctor once she moves to grab a bandage. She shakes her head, unwrapping it and reaching towards his face in one swift movement. 

  
  


“Fury changed his mind about having you two together so soon and called one of my nurses to his office to check up on Killian there,” Dr. Cho explains while smoothing her finger across the bandage. She pats his cheek once after she’s finished, turning away. “I’ll go get you some ice packs and you can lay down for a few,”

  
  


It’s silent—almost peacefully so—for a long moment, his headache finally lessening from a sledgehammer pounding on metal to a dull throb. 

  
  


Then Stephen has to ruin it by speaking, almost as if he couldn’t hold his curiosity any longer or he’d explode. “Have you two already met?” He asks, leaning forward, one eyebrow raised. 

  
  


Tony nods slowly, carefully. It was a couple years ago, when they first met, at a MIT lecture held by a few well known scientists. It was before Tony was enrolled, so he snuck in behind Howard and hid amongst the college students to listen. They all noticed him, obviously, who wouldn’t notice a ten year old ducking behind one of the tables, but wisely kept quiet save for a few repressed laughs and badly hidden grins. When everyone filed out, he missed the wave, so he ended up sitting awkwardly on the floor with no one left to block him from the professionals' amused gazes. Howard had no other choice to introduce him, then. Dr. Cho said hello first, and all the other scientists/doctors followed suit.

  
  


Since then, the two have now run into each other a couple times at galas and fundraisers, and have a friendly relationship. 

  
  


He explains that out loud after a second, but foregoes most of the details to simplify it. 

  
  


Stephen looks satisfied by the answer. 

  
  


Finally, Dr. Cho comes back holding two ice packs and two small plastic cups. “Your medicine you keep neglecting to take,” Dr Cho elaborates as he takes the cups. He downs the pill and water before he presses the cold packs to his knuckles and cheek and collapses onto his back. 

  
  


His eyes trace the lines of the ceiling above him. Some of the paint is peeling. “You guys can go now. Shoo. I’m going to take a nap,“ Tony says, closing his eyes, waving in the twos general direction. 

  
  


They say their goodbyes and wish him well (just Carol, really. Stephen just mutters ‘bye’ and is off) before leaving him be. 

  
  


“I’ll wake you in a half hour. Don’t worry about Fury,” Dr Cho says from somewhere at the end of the bed before soft footsteps retreat to the back. 

  
  


~•~ 

  
  


It’s a bit more than a half hour when she wakes him up to send him into the lion's den. 

  
  


Two hours and seven minutes, actually. 

  
  


Yeah, just a _bit_ more.

  
  


When Tony voiced his horror with numerous swears after spotting the clock on the wall, Dr. Cho laughed at him, waved off his concern. Apparently, because it took him so long to fall asleep and how tired he looked, she was reluctant to wake him and then ‘forgot’ to. 

  
  


Fury doesn’t seem to mind too much. Well, Tony can’t really tell. The man's expression is ominously blank, save for a slight pinch between his brows, as if he’s plotting on what the hell to do with the little motherfucker in front of him (Fury’s words, not Tony’s). Since Tony wandered in, it’s been silent. He didn’t even yell at Tony for grabbing one of the toys on his desk when the silence became too much to bear without the need to twitch or get up. 

  
  


Scary. 

  
  


Tony balances the gel based ball on two fingers and shakes, making the ball jiggle around. He gets a wave of deja vu of a few of the offices he used to visit when he was much younger and his stomach drops with memory of one particular doctor who made him sit in silence in an empty, blank room for a long while to observe his behavior (his parents sued once Tony blabbered about the situation, obviously) after claiming his parents would distract him and made them leave. 

  
  


Suddenly, the silence seems overbearing, so he reaches over and plops the ball on the desk. It bounces. Fury twitches. It works, because he then addresses Tony.

  
  


“Stark.” 

  
  


“Fury,” Tony chirps, grabbing the ball again and squishing it. “What’s the verdict?” 

  
  


“You aren’t going home, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

  
  


“Darn.” 

  
  


“Instead,” Fury continues, squinting his eye in what looks suspiciously like amusement and organizing some of the papers on his desk. “I have arranged punishments for both you and Killian here in camp.” 

  
  


Tony blinks, taken aback. “Pardon me?” 

  
  


Fury looks up at him, and yes, that is definitely amusement. “Don’t worry. You won’t be placed together.” 

  
  


“Yeah that’s not what I’m shocked about,” the brunet says. “I just can’t believe I’m _actually_ getting punished. _He_ was the one who came at _me_.” 

  
  


“Maybe so, but you were involved anyway, so you have kitchen duty before and after each meal for two weeks, and you will be helping Mr. Banner with the library for one week.” 

  
  


Tony makes a face—even though it isn’t even bad, but he doesn’t want Fury to catch on to his relief and get off worse—keeping the act up. “That’s ridiculous. What if I don’t do what I’m told?” 

  
  


“Then it gets even more ridiculous. Or I call your father.” 

  
  


“Sure, alright, I’ll behave then.” 

  
  


_ Yeah, right.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. This isn’t an action novel, Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! How are you all?
> 
> Todays chapter is basically just a filler, so it’s a little bland, but now we have Peter! Stephen had a little cameo to add some more conflict. I also added a little of tech and some more absurdness because I felt Tony hasn’t been very...Tony lately. 
> 
> Next chapter features more Stephen and more troublemaking! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading! Sorry if I might take a few days to respond to comments ao3 is being really weird on my phone.

Tony finishes wiping down one last table and sighs, long and tired. He cracks his knuckles and stretches out his fingers before picking up a bag and the trash and going back into the kitchen. 

  
  


These past few days have been...boring. Well, more tedious than lacking anything interesting. His job as a busboy is pretty annoying, but the cooks and staff are all nice people, and they don’t bother him too much unless it’s about his work. 

  
  


“Tony!” An excited voice greets him as soon as he pushes past the swinging door. He drops the trash by the bigger one and digs around in the bag to pick out a few of the stray things left after dinner, grabs the items he wants, then throws the paper bag out as well. 

  
  


Tony looks up with a half smile, quickly stuffing two vapes he found under one of the tables into his pockets. “Hey, Peter,” he waves with a half smile before glancing around. They’re the only two in the kitchen, all the other willing (and not so willing) volunteer campers are already at their cabins, and the staff are scattered around someplace else. 

  
  


Peter is still grinning, the expression near splitting his face. “Guess what I found?” He says, tossing something else into the trash can, then reaching into his jeans, struggling a little before yanking out a pair of AirPods. “They were under some jerks' table,” he makes a face. “You said you needed something like these, right?” 

  
  


Peter is the nephew of Mrs. May Parker (who basically runs the kitchen) and he’s a super sweet kid. The kind family duo is also probably the only reason Tony hasn’t flipped this place upside down yet. 

  
  


They first met when Tony stumbled into the kitchen way too early in the morning with a glare and a scowl on his lips. Peter was the one who greeted him, all happy and puppy like, telling Tony that his engineering feats were super impressive for someone so young. So, Tony put on a gritted smile, and pushed back his attitude to be a decent person. His kindness turned genuine soon enough and since then, they’ve miraculously gotten along. 

  
  


Tony sort of pities him. Not for all the other stuff, but for meeting the young Stark in the first place. Trouble loves to cling to Tony’s back and mess with everyone around him like a particularly mischievous troll. Luckily, though, after two days of spending time around each other, Peter proved pretty quickly that he’s secretly a bit of a menace himself. 

  
  


Yet, he’s still such a good person. He constantly volunteers to help out with whatever he can, whenever he can, and he’s willingly going through Tony’s punishment with him. He just turned fourteen, so this is his first official year at Shield, and his wide smiles still have the same childlike undertone Tony has tried to rub away on himself to appear more mature. 

  
  


“Those are perfect!” Tony expertly catches the little pod and returns the other boys grin, but much sharper. “Thank you, my little bootlegger. I’ll get you your computer back in no time.” 

  
  


Peter flushes pink. “Okay! It was no problem, really, I just found them,” he says. “But—I just need to make sure—you said you were returning them, right?”

  
  


“Of course,” Tony nods seriously and stuffs the items into his sweatshirt. Then gives his best evil smile. “How do you think I’m getting near Fury’s office?” 

  
  


The slightly taller boy gasps. “Wow! So that’s why you asked...” Peter hushes suddenly when one of the staff comes back into the kitchen, watching the person with wide eyes and looking totally suspicious. That signals a leave for Tony. 

  
  


“Yep,” Tony takes off his apron. He lowers his voice, and Peter ducks closer to hear. “Let’s stop talking about this. Just meet me in the library on Saturday like an hour before we have to be here for lunch and I’ll have your computer, _okay_?” 

  
  


“Okay!” Peter nods, shaking with excited energy. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then, partner!”

  
  


“Bye.” 

  
  


•|•

  
  


Tony sells both of the found juuls for a total of fifty dollars to a cute nameless boy in the shadows of their two cabins, the transaction adding just a minute to Tony’s return before it’s over and they’re both in their respective cabins. 

  
  


All the other boys are already there, gathered around in small groups and sprawled around on the bunks and floor like little kids. Tony steps around a few stray feet on his way to his bed, carefully avoiding everyone to not provoke any anger that would be directed towards him. 

  
  


Stephen is laying on his own mattress, book propped up on his bent legs. He looks up when Tony sits down to take off his shoes and pull out the money. “Did you steal all that?” Is what he asks. 

  
  


The brunet sighs, disappointed in himself for forgetting that Stephen would definitely ask him too many questions. Reaching under the bed to maneuver his wallet from where it’s hidden amongst his clothes, he admits, “Nope, I actually played a drug dealer for a hot guy less than five minutes ago.” 

  
  


Stephen doesn’t seem bothered by the fact Tony called another boy attractive, but he does snort and shake his head. “Sure you did,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

  
  


Curiosity sparks in Tony’s chest, a pleasant but persistent hum that tells him to figure out how Stephen feels about gay—Bi in this case—people. He crosses his arms and kicks his feet up onto the other boy's bed. He does keep his voice low, however, so he won’t get hate crimed by any stray ears, leaning just barely into Stephens personal space. 

  
  


“What? Jealous I get more dick than you?” 

  
  


Now that makes the taller boy blush a nice pink, and he drops his book to push the other pair of feet away, but his face is dark. The anger is real, Tony notices immediately, and he knows he shouldn’t push, but he does, just for a better confirmation. 

  
  


“What? Can’t you take a little gay joke?” Tony teases, jutting his lip out in a mock pout. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay, you know. _Literally_ nothing. That whole bible thing is a sham.” 

  
  


“I don’t care. _Shut up,_” Stephen hisses. “Or you’ll get a matching bruise on the _other_ side of your face.” 

  
  


“Woah,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender, taking his loss for the sake of his face. He can’t get a read on the other boy. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice at the same quiet volume. “No need to resort to violence.” 

  
  


Stephen glances around the room at the other oblivious boys and takes a deep breath to calm himself, eyes snapping back to Tony when he lets it out. The anger seems to have somewhat faded, his multichrome eyes less stormy than a few seconds before. 

  
  


Once he finally locks his wallet and hides it away, Tony rolls onto his stomach and rests his head in his arms. He glances over at Stephen to notice that Stephen is still glaring at him with an unreadable expression, like he seems to do a lot. 

  
  


“I’m not sorry,” Tony mutters to him. 

  
  


After a few more tense, silent moments, Stephen’s face twitches like he’s about to frown, or speak, and Tony immediately breaks eye contact, turning his head towards the wall. 

  
  


•|• 

  
  


“Hi, Miss? I found these in the cafeteria last night when I was sweeping under the tables.” 

  
  


“Oh! You did?” 

  
  


“I did. I was wondering if I could go and put them in the lost in found?” 

  
  


“Of course you can! That’s so kind of you dear, for returning those. They’re awfully expensive.” 

  
  


Tony laughs, nodding along with the receptionist. “It’s no problem at all, really.” 

  
  


She gives him a sweet smile, her lips stained with a glossy red sheen. “Mr. Fury won’t be back for another hour, but you can go ahead and run up to his office anyway. You know where that is, yes?” 

  
  


“Yeah,” He nods, turning the AirPods in his hand. “And is it okay if I look for my backpack while I’m in there? I haven’t been able to find it for a few days and it has a bunch of my books in it. I’m actually starting to miss reading.” 

  
  


The woman giggles the joke. “Of course, honey.” 

  
  


“Thank you so much,” He flashes her a winning smile and she nods and smiles back. 

  
  


After spinning on his heel, he hops up the stairs, dropping his smile as soon as he’s out of sight. Fury’s door is shut at the end of the long hall, looking every bit intimidating even without the man inside. Tony rubs his hands on his shorts nervously. They aren’t sweaty, but they are shaking. 

  
  


“Alright. In and out, Tony,” he mumbles to himself, too quiet for the security camera in the corner to hear, and opens the door, goes in, and shuts it behind him in one swift movement. 

  
  


It’s empty, like the receptionist said it would be.

  
  


There’s no other cameras in the office itself, Tony looked when he first got here and double checked the other day when Fury dished out his sentence. Audio recorders, probably, but no cameras. Just in case, Tony pulls a tiny device from his pocket and pushes a button to let out a high frequency sound that temporarily disables any technology in the room in a thirty foot radius for exactly four minutes and thirty seconds. Odd time, right? But _whatever_—Howard had him learn how to make it for when he got into any trouble so he could craft one when needed. Tony snuck it into a pair of underwear and forgot about it until a few days ago, so it was a very helpful surprise. 

  
  


He clicks the button again, internally beginning a timer, and drops the AirPods onto Fury’s desk as he squats down to look for a key. Tony runs his hand along the underside of the wood, looking for any ridges, before going along the inner edges and sides. Nothing. He moves up to the desk itself, examining all the toys and gadgets, opening what he can and placing it back perfectly. Something catches his eye, a little crack in the upper middle drawer. He opens it and grins. 

  
  


A keychain. 

  
  


And with three minutes to spare!

  
  


He quickly moves to the file cabinet, looking over the keys for a few seconds, then choosing one with an educated guess and sticking it into the lock. It works, the massive bottom cabinet opening with a satisfying click, and Tony carefully pulls it open. A small hush of pride blooms in his chest from actually paying attention to where Fury subtly glanced when the topic of troublemakers and first warnings came up right at the end of Tony’s court hearing. 

  
  


An array of laptops, wires, juuls, and everything else worth being confiscated sits in a pile in the drawer, neatly organized by item. Tony reaches for the laptops first, immediately singling out his customized one nearing the bottom, grabbing it and gently setting it on the floor beside him. Now to look for Peters. Tony lifts a few more, then puts them back down until he spots the NASA sticker Peter said was stuck to the top. 

  
  


There are enough computers that Fury won’t notice two missing, especially when one of them is pretty thin, so Tony just pushes the others back into place and locks the cabinet back up. As much as he wants to take more contraband and sell it to the other campers, he would be sold out by the receptionist for being the only one who entered Fury’s office, and leaving with a packed bag would be pretty suspicious. Plus, it would be pretty obvious to which kid is smart enough to be able to access the stuff in the first place, not to sound cocky or anything. 

  
  


He puts the keys back and moves to the lost in found in the corner to get his backpack. Once he hatched this plan, he purposefully left his bag in one of the classrooms so it would be here for this moment. Tony stuffs the two computers into his bag after pulling it from the container, and leaves it slightly unzipped just enough to peek the edge of his book out of it. 

  
  


“_Fuck yeah,_” He grins, slipping on the bag and turning to check if everything is in place before snatching a sticky note to write a quick message for the AirPods. ‘Found these in cafeteria!’ he scribbles in a messy print that doesn’t look like his own, attaches it to the Bluetooth headphones, then heads out the door. 

  
  


“Ah, you found your bag!” The receptionist says when he’s descending down the stairs. 

  
  


“Yeah! It was, like, all the way at the bottom. It took me forever to find,” Tony chirps, slowing his footsteps so they could have a short conversation. 

  
  


She hums thoughtfully. “I bet. Those look like quite a bit of books,” She points out, nodding to the slight sag of the bottom. 

  
  


Tony nods again, a quick bob of his head so his hair falls in his eyes a little. “I carry all my books in this bag. There’s at least five, I think, but I checked out some from the library so I’m not really sure,” he pushes his hair back and gives her a sheepish smile. “I’m really glad I don’t have to explain to Bruce how I lost his books.” 

  
  


That gets a laugh from her. “I’m sure he’d understand,” she says, “Enjoy your books, okay honey?” 

  
  


“I will, thank you! Have a nice day.” 

  
  


On his way out, he hears her chuckle softly again. “Sweet kid,” she laughs under her breath. 

  
  


Tony smirks. 

  
  
  
  
  



	10. Lets go hike, or something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of hiking day for Tony, Stephen, and gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey....how y'all doing...
> 
> Its been a while, hasn't it? 
> 
> I forgot about this story until I finished my hw and had nothing else to do. Weird, right? Maybe I'll remember enough to keep updating. Anyway, I'm so happy so many people seem to enjoy this, so I'll definitely try to continue writing between online classes and work and stuff. 
> 
> I love you all and I hope you're all in good health! Enjoy

Today—Saturday—is a ‘hiking day.’ This means that campers are split into groups by cabins and last names, and are forced to follow one of the million trails in the woods for god knows what reason. Each group has three counselors and thirty kids, and they all have matching shirts so no one gets lost. 

  
  


It’s ridiculous. 

  
  


“This is ridiculous,” Tony voices his thoughts, tugging at the pale blue shirt hanging too loosely off his shoulders. They ran out of his size, of course. 

  
  


“You’re telling me!” Clint sighs dramatically and throws his arm around Tony, hugging tight to not be pushed off. “Laura isn’t in our group,” he frowns. 

  
  


Tony gives him the side-eye. “I don’t know who Laura is.” 

  
  


“She’s a friend of mine,” Clint sighs again. 

  
  


“I thought you and Natasha were a thing?” The blond suddenly blushes and tries to sputter out excuses, so Tony uses the moment to dislodge himself and put a few feet between them. 

  
  


“I—what? How did you—“ Clint clamps his mouth shut at a fail for words and takes a couple of seconds to recover before glaring at him in suspicion and crossing his arms. “Who told you?” He demands. 

  
  


“You’re kidding,” Tony scoffs and takes his time to look around at the other campers around them talking and joking similarly—everyone waiting for the counselors to begin the hike. 

  
  


Some of the campers Tony recognizes. A few of Clint’s friends, like Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Thor, a girl Tony never learned the name of. There’s also Stephen and one of his girl friends, and Carol. _Hopefully_, Clint will fuck off to hang out with his actual friends, instead of clinging to Tony like a gross little koala bear, or like that seagull that kept coming back to steal Rhodeys chips when they went to the beach that one time. 

  
  


“No, I’m not!” Clint looks genuinely shocked like he was oblivious to everyone else’s knowledge about his little crush. “Who?” 

  
  


Pitying him, Tony dismissively waves his hand and starts walking over to the rest of the campers. Clint, like expected, follows. “Nobody, Clint. I have a brain. I used my critical thinking skills to put two and two together and I got four, but don’t worry, it’s only obvious if you have eyes,” he says and tries to hide his grin. 

  
  


Clint gasps, shaking his head. “No way I’m that transparent.” 

  
  


“Clearer than the sky today, man,” Tony points up to the almost blindly blue sky, no cloud in sight.

  
  


“You have to find out who else knows!” 

  
  


“Well, Natasha doesn’t, so…” 

  
  


“Oh, thank god.” 

  
  


Tony smirks as they rejoin the group and Carol loudly addresses everyone. Damn. Seconds too late. He was going to bother the blonde for a while to make his objections to today obvious. 

  
  


They stop near Stephen and his friend, who are whispering aggressively to one another, scowls on their faces. Once the pair notices them, Stephen grits his teeth and averts his gaze, both of them stopping the whispers. Tony is curious, but he turns to listen to Carol like an obedient little prisoner. 

  
  


“Hello, everyone! I’m Carol, as you know, and I’ll be one of your counselors along with Quill, here, and Vision!” Carol points to the brunette and blond beside her. “We are the blue group, which means we’ll be going on the Blue trail. I have to ask that you…”

  
  


And...Tony tunes her out after that. 

  
  


As she goes over the rules or something like that, Clint leans over and lowers his voice. “I’ve been on this one before, two years ago,” he mumbles close so no one else can hear. “We go to this old castle thing and do a team-building exercise. I’m pretty sure it changes every year.” 

  
  


“What exercise did you do?” Tony asks quietly, partly raising his eyebrow. 

  
  


Clint gives him a wolfish grin. “Dunno, I had to sit outside because I kept misbehaving. Apparently, people don’t like it when you keep poking at them,” Tony (not fondly) rolls his eyes and bats Clint’s hand from where it was trying to snake around his back to reach his ribs. 

  
  


“Of course you were. And don’t you dare try to tase me or I’ll kick you in the balls so hard you’ll taste your own sperm.” 

  
  


“I’d like to see you try.” 

  
  


At that, Tony moves away from the suddenly outstretched hand, all but effectively dodging into Clint’s other hand and getting two fingers dug right into his side. Flinching, he moves to cover himself, but Clint jabs at his other side. 

  
  


Quickly glancing around and seeing that no one is paying them much attention at the back of the group, Tony delivers his finest kick. 

  
  


“Aw_—fuck!”_ Clint wheezes, curling in on himself and slowly (dramatically) sinking to the ground. “Jesus!” 

  
  


Now, _that_ makes people look. 

  
  


Tony smiles innocently. 

  
  


“You boys alright back there?” Carol asks straight face, the strain on her voice the only give on her repressed laughter. 

  
  


“Yep. This is just my puppy, Clint,” Tony reaches down and pats messy blond hair affectionately. “I just taught him some new tricks. Who's a good boy?” Clint glares up at him with a stricken look. 

  
  


“Woof,” Clint deadpans, luckily following along with the joke. Tony gently rubs Clint’s hair in approval and laughs, the sound soon shared by the other campers. 

  
  


“Okay, okay, we have to get back to the introduction. Tony, please let Clint stand up so I can continue,” Carol takes a breath, laughing a little again. 

  
  


Tony shrugs and helps pull Clint to his feet. As the other boy dusts his pants, the introduction and rules continue where they left off. “I’m so humiliated,” Clint huffs.

  
  


“It’s okay,” Tony puts a supportive hand on Clint’s shoulder and sends him a mock sympathetic look. 

  
  


“Fuck off,” the blond laughs. 

  
  


  * | 

  
  


Their first pit stop is in a large, sunny glade, two hours and ten minutes after they depart from camp. 

  
  


Tony immediately collapses onto the soft grass, groaning and rolling onto his back to stare up at the sky so blue it nearly infuriates him. He turns his head to look at the equally green surrounding forest that hides the clearing. It’s beautiful. He hates it. 

  
  


Absurdly enough, Stephen's eyes come to mind. From the blue or green, Tony isn’t really sure. As he thinks, he hums, running his fingers through the grass absently and enjoying the texture. Heterochromia explains how Stephen’s eyes change from blue to green to grey and back again with seemingly his moods. 

  
  


All of a sudden, an image of Tony and Stephen nose-to-nose, Tony looking at the color up close comes to mind far too quickly—like it was waiting for this moment to pop up and scare the shit out of him—and Tony’s cheeks heat up as he hurries to cover his face with his hands, embarrassed even in the privacy of his own mind. 

  
  


_ Mission accomplished, brain, for fucks sake.  _

  
  


“Tony!” Clint calls in warning before he plops down next to the genius with an ungraceful thumping sound. “There you are.” 

  
  


“Here I am,” Tony lifts his hands from his face to the sky, parting his fingers so the blue seeps through. In his chest, his heart is thrumming faster than it should be. He takes a shaky breath and speaks. “I thought you were with your friends?” 

  
  


“Ah, Steve’s being a hard-ass. I needed some comedy so I don’t give him a wedgie and get kicked into oblivion by his super legs. Like, _seriously_, the guy is ripped for a seventeen-year-old. You should’ve seen him, like, three years ago. The guy was twiggy!” 

  
  


Tony drops one of his hands to rest on his chest but keeps the other playing in the sky and glances over to see the boy's wide grin directed at him. “Nah, you’re lying. He came out of his mother looking like a steroid-shot college football player. I know it. I was there. I was the midwife.”

  
  


Clint’s resulting giggle is carefree and happy. “Seriously, I have pictures I can show you.” 

  
  


“And you will, because I still don’t believe you,” he says. 

  
  


A hum comes from the other boy. Tony glances over after a few seconds of silents and, to his surprise, meets analyzing blue eyes. Not dissecting him or pinning him down like certain assholes, but instead, Clint’s eyes are curious, observing, almost as if he sees something Tony doesn’t realize is showing. 

  
  


They don’t talk, just watch, for a few more seconds, until a slow grin grows on Clint’s lips and he turns away. 

  
  


“You’re blushing.” 

  
  


Shit. He is? Still?

  
  


“You’re dumb.” 

  
  


“Why are you blushing?” 

  
  


“M’thinking about your mom.” 

  
  


Clint sends him a half-amused half-exasperated smile, shaking his head in disbelief before pushing himself onto his feet and holding out his hand, “C’mon the group is gonna leave soon,” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis. 

  
  


Taking the outstretched hand to pull himself up, Tony takes a deep breath and sighs, wiping off his pants once he’s upright. “Fantastic,” he drawls. 

  
  


“High-ho!” Clint claps loudly and gestures before they make their way over to where the counselors are doing a headcount. 

  
  


“Alright, everyone! We’re almost at our activity area, so just hold on for a couple more miles!” Quill says, excitedly, and starts the walk with a skip in his step. 

  
  


The pair silently trails a couple of feet behind the squad of teenagers, chuckling whenever they nearly run into each other every few minutes when they aren’t paying attention. What stumps Tony the most is how not-uncomfortable the silence is. It’s not quite peaceful, but it’s not awkward either. It’s just...there...until Clint begins to talk about how his shampoo was stolen last night—

  
  


“Was it _really_ stolen—or did you just lose it?” 

  
  


“It was stolen, Tony! I _know_ it was, and I’m going to get back whoever dares to cross me.” 

  
  


“Once you figure out who it was.” 

  
  


“Once I figure out who it was!” 

  
  


—and they keep the conversation going, Clint declaring multiple times that he’s doing to destroy whoever ‘stole’ his precious shampoo until they arrive at an old, moss-covered stone mansion. 

  
  


Tony can’t help but trail his hand along the thick wood door frame as they walk in, feeling the ridges of the walls while they’re guided into a large dining room. It reminds him a bit of the summer home his family owns in Italy if a little more Americanized and showy. He notes the architecture and interior design as they trudge through the house and into the large, two-part kitchen. 

  
  


“This place is well kept,” The brunette notes absently, standing at the head of the long dining table on the far side of the room. 

  
  


Clint hums in agreement and sits down beside him, watching as Tony digs the tips of his fingers into the wood to test the strength. “I know right? They have to, like, have people come here or something to clean it every couple of weeks.” 

  
  


“Most likely, yeah,” Tony gives him a shrug and a little smile, gently plopping down into the thick wooden dining room chair. 

  
  


Carol clears her throat, getting everyone’s attention to where she’s sitting on one of the counters, legs crossed like she owns the house. 

  
  


“We’re splitting into six groups,” she explains, taking her arm and sticking it out in front of her, splitting the room in half. “Left side starting at Gamora is with Quill, and the right starting with Clint is my group. The kids in the middle of Clint and Gamora are with Vision. Once you’re with your groups, you’ll split again. We’ll meet up in an hour. Now scatter, children!” 

  
  


Tony and Clint immediately make eye contact, before they both map where Clint’s body is placed in the room and who exactly will be with them. There’s ten in each group exactly, somehow, and Tony suspects that Carol waited until they all subconsciously moved into a position that was easy to divide. 

  
  


Natasha and Steve make their way to the table as the two other groups begin to file out after their counselors.

  
  


Natasha gives them both a smirk, taking her seat beside Clint without an ounce of hesitation. “Hey, boys,” she teases. 

  
  


“Hey Nat,” Clint smiles at her, and Tony holds himself back from rolling his eyes or blurting something uncalled for, turning to look at Natasha’s companion instead of watching the pair make heart eyes at each other _(Ugh)_.

  
  


Who looks almost constipated trying to decide if he should awkwardly sit beside Tony or go around the table to sit with Natasha and potentially come off as rude. 

  
  


Tony takes the opportunity as it is and puts on his sharpest smile. “Take a seat, Steve, I don’t bite,” the genius nearly purrs, throwing the table manners his mom taught him out the window by leaning forward on his elbows and licking his lips. 

  
  


It gets a laugh from raven and beast boy, but Steve just looks overwhelmingly uncomfortable. “I, uh…” he clears his throat. “I never apologized, did I? For being rude to you.” 

  
  


“Now is not the time for your, quite frankly, _hilariously_ late apologies, Rogers,” a deep voice interrupts, pushing past Steve and taking the seat to Tony’s left. 

  
  


“Strange,” Steve’s hesitant expression morphs into annoyance, as the wonder pair look on in amusement like they’re watching a live reality show. “You’re in this group?” He asks. His voice is actually impressively passive, to be honest. 

  
  


“Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?” Stephen tilts his head up to give Steve a blank stare. 

  
  


“Not at all,” Steve grits his teeth and moves around Tony’s back to sit down. “We’ll talk later,” he mumbles to Tony as he passes. 

  
  


Ignoring that, Tony cheekily smiles over at Stephen. “You don’t get along with him, either?” 

  
  


Stephen rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent, or something? Use the context clues given to you.” 

  
  


“It’s more fun to bug you.” 

  
  


“I’m sure.” 

  
  


“Hey, there you are,” The girl Stephen was talking with earlier comes up next to the boy and says. “I’m in Quills group.” 

  
  


“Of course you are,” Stephen huffs. 

  
  


“Stephen,” The blonde says. She then leans down and whispers something in his ear and the look that Stephen gives her is so offended that Tony covers his mouth to hold in his laugh. 

  
  


“_Goodbye_, Christine.” 

  
  


Christine laughs and gives a friendly—but suspiciously sly—tilt of her lips and a wave to Tony and salutes the other three before ducking back into the hallway. 

  
  


Right after the blonde leaves, another two come over. Carol stands behind Tony and the two kids with her (Thor and Bruce) sit. After a couple of seconds, three random girls Tony doesn’t know come over and sit, too. 

  
  


“Alright. We’re doing a team-building exercise,” Carol says, not raising her voice when she puts a list on the table. Everyone isn’t talking, anyway, so she’s heard easily. “A scavenger hunt slash escape room type thing.” 

  
  


“Easy money,” Tony rolls his head to look up at Carol after glancing at the simple-looking list in front of him. “I’ll get it done with twenty minutes to spare.” 

  
  


“No _way_, Stark,” Stephen says. 

  
  


“We already had this conversation.” 

  
  


They narrow their eyes in unison, glaring at one another. 

  
  


Carol snorts. “It’s a _team_-building exercise, boys, not a competition. Well, actually, it is.” 

  
  


“I say let them do it themselves,” Clint stretches his arms up in a stretch and lazily grins at Tony. 

  
  


Tony nods once. “Thank you very much, Clint. I appreciate your input.” 

  
  


“Same,” Bruce raises his hand slightly. “I mean, I’m okay with that, too, if that’s what they want.”

  
  


The two boys share a smile before Tony points at Carol. “Four against one. Democracy. We win. Come on, Stephen, let’s go find some…” he glances down at the list. “...dove engraved candle holders!”

  
  


“I’m glad you all are agreeing, but,” she says, and instead of letting him stand, she lightly pushes his shoulder down so he falls back into the chair, snatching up the list. “You need three more people in your group before I can send you off,” she explains, eyes raking over the sheets. “You guys aren’t in a competition against each other, okay? This is just to see who gets it faster in individual groups. Your win counts for all ten of us. We just have to get our two higher than the others.”

  
  


Tony groans. “Okay.” 

  
  


“Clint and I will be in your group,” Natasha offers. “Steve, too.” 

  
  


“There’s five!” Tony lights up immediately, hopping to his feet and grabbing the list back. As he bounds across the room, he hears Carol laughing and saying something to the second group, and four pairs of feet racing after him. 

  
  


The brunette makes a beeline for the stairs. It’s better to check there while everyone else is caught up on the first floor. Make their way from top to bottom. If there’s a basement, they go there last. He makes it to the top and stops to wait for the others. Stephen is right there, just a few steps down like he was the first to chase after him. He reaches Tony with two wide steps and glares. 

  
  


“What are you, a puppy? Perking up and running away like you saw a squirrel or some shit,” Stephen grumbles, making a gesturing motion with his hands. 

  
  


Tony understands immediately and hands over the paper without a fuss or hesitation. “Nah, I just wanted to leave before you could object to our new group!” 

  
  


Said group has finally gotten to the stairs after the pair and is making its way up. 

  
  


“Yeah fuck you, too,” The taller boy grumbles, making a noise that’s somewhere between annoyance and surprise as he reads, and changes the subject. “This list isn’t too hard. We can section off the rooms into parts for each of us to look.” 

  
  


Tony nudges him playfully with his elbow. “You’re so smart. I’m so glad I picked you first,” he teases. 

  
  


“I know I am,” Stephen says, pressing the paper into the Stark’s chest with one hand and making him stumble a little back with the force.

  
  


_Strong, too._ Tony over as Clint exaggeratingly pulls himself the last few inches up by the railing, huffing and puffing like he just ran a 5k. 

  
  


“Jesus..._Christ_...man…” Clint wheezes. “_You...fast little fucker_…” 

  
  


“Stephen caught up,” Tony chirps. 

  
  


Natasha pushes past them. “And he has long ass giraffe legs.” 

  
  


When Stephen glances down as if to double-check and confirm for himself, Tony slaps a hand over his mouth and turns to the wall to hide his chuckles. When he sees that Nat has already entered one of the rooms, he trails after. 

  
  


The office is old and somewhat dusty, but it still looks nice enough that plenty of hipster writers would salivate to work in. Shield could probably rent half of their massive property, Tony muses while he glances around, but it _is_ probably best that they keep the campers away from any potentially suspicious persons. That’s how you get drug deals. 

  
  


“Quit leaving you ass!” Clint hisses to the shorter boy, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and looking over them to peer down at the checklist. Steve and Stephen come in behind him, looking around curiously. “What the hell are half these things? Like how am I supposed to know what a _gyroscope_ is?” 

  
  


“It’s a design that t ells the plane of earth’s rotation depending on its location’s latitude. Created by French Physicist...Leon Foucault, if I’m correct,” Tony explains, squinting over at the desk in a half-assed attempt to see better. After a couple of seconds, he spots what he was looking for. “There it is, actually,” the boy gestures to a small toy looking thing on the bureau pressed against the wall behind the desk. 

  
  


“You are, in fact, correct,” Stephen is the one who picks it up and pushes the little rim of the ball so it starts spinning. “He invented it in 1859. Pretty neat.” 

Clint blows a raspberry with his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Okay, but you two are total nerds. How was the rest of us _normal_ people supposed to know the goddamn year it was invented and by who? You guys probably know what it’s made out of, too,” he pouts. 

  
  


“That one looks like copper,” Tony grins up at the blond. “Nerds are superior, anyway.” 

  
  


“Certainly,” Stephen smirks, putting the device back and picking up an old wooden pencil to check it off and scribble down where they found it on the list after Tony hands it over. 

  
  


Natasha clears her throat so the three boys near the desk look over. Steve is standing there with an awkward smile, holding up an old blueprint of the house between two large hands. “I found it rolled up in the corner. This is on the list, right? I think I remember Carol saying that when she read the list.”    
  


“Kudos, poster boy! You found something worthwhile,” Tony ducks away from Clint to stand before the other blond and examine their newest finding. “Write it down, scribe!”

  
  


“Right away, your majesty,” Even though he isn’t looking, he can feel Stephen roll his eyes before he hears the light scratch of pencil on paper. 

  
  


Natasha’s green eyes look between them and she opens her mouth to say, “We should hide it. Steve found it pretty quickly, and he’s no genius--no offense--” Steve blushes, but mutters ‘_none taken_’ so she continues. “--so I assume the other kids will, too.”

  
  


Clint nods in agreement. “One item per room would make us win easily.” 

  
  


If they did that, it would be considered cheating. Now, in some cases, Tony doesn’t mind cheating once in a while, but he likes to pick and choose his fights according to four things. Potential mischief (how could he be entertained by this?), work to benefit ratio (would he be putting in more work by cheating? If so, does it show in the outcome, or is the benefit the same either way?), and if it’s really a necessity (could they win?). The mischief level is high, but hiding it is far too much work--especially finding a spot--when they could definitely finish first without much effort. 

“No,” Tony shakes his head and quickly explains that they don’t need to cheat to win and when he’s finished, adds, “Plus, hiding is too much work. It wastes precious time.”

  
  


“Maybe we should help others out,” Stephen pockets the pencil and gives Clint back the sheet. “I’m _pretty sure_ I saw the blueprints in the living room.”

  
  


“Oh, yeah! They were near the couch, I think,” Clint grins. 

  
  


Natasha hums. “Ah, I sort of recall that, too.”

  
  


“Let’s finish this room before wrongly directing everyone else,” Steve didn’t look very happy about Natashas idea, but his frown is much smaller as he speaks. He rolls up the large print and puts it back where he found it. Tony smirks. 

  
  


“You heard the man!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Finally, a haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Happy (late) Thanksgiving if you celebrate. I hope it was wonderful for you all. Mine was iffy, but that’s alright, because I finally finished this chapter! 
> 
> And we are SO CLOSE to a kiss!! And some pranks!! 
> 
> This chapter is basically Tony flaunting his intelligence and flirting between our two favorite assholes
> 
> Thank you and I’m grateful for all of you. :) <3

“Here.” 

  
  


“Found it.”

  
  


“Over here!” 

  
  


“This is it, right?”

  
  


“Hey, guys! Look!”

  
  


As Tony predicted, they are the first to finish. 

  
  


All thirty-five items neatly checked off by the pencil still tucked into Stephens mako shorts. After the third room--and some arguments--, they fell into an easy system for when they found what they needed. Steve (and sometimes Clint) would dutifully hold the list and, because Stephen insisted that his handwriting was the best, he was the one who would jot down the information. 

  
  


They meet Carol outside where she sits on a long, flat rock--staring out on the water. The view over the wide expanse of lawn and gardens is nice, and a decent distance away from the lake, high enough to see a good chunk of the shoreline. The camp is nowhere to be seen. The five sit down alongside the counselor, Tony giving her a cheeky grin. She looks pleased to see them first. 

  
  


“Hey, Carol,” says Tony, gesturing to where Steve is. The blond holds up the list, proudly displaying its finished contents. He’s less annoying than Tony originally thought, and surprisingly, super fun to tease. The way Steve’s face turns from peach to fire engine red in seconds after a particular naughty joke is hilarious. Clint agrees. “Guess what?” 

  
  


Carol pretends to think. “Hmm. I don’t know…”

  
  


Clint doesn’t let her finish her act, leaning close from his spot between Tony and Natasha. “What do we win?” he rubs his hands together in anticipation. Tony lightly pushes him back with a scrunched face and he laughs. 

  
  


“It better be something worthwhile,” Stephen drawls. He’s positioned slightly away from the group, towards the water, upper half draped across his propped up knee. The sun peaks through the trees and makes his black hair and pale skin glow. In a way, the pose makes him look like a modern renaissance-style painting that Mama would hang in the music room. “Or I won’t hesitate in taking my revenge on this place for wasting my precious time. Fury in particular,” he adds. 

  
  


Tony thinks about his uncalled for and unreasonable punishment and silently agrees. But to partially veil his plans for the next few days, and not draw attention to himself, he says nothing. 

  
  


“Exactly. I’ll sink that pirate’s ship!” Clint declares, throwing a fist in the air and narrowly avoiding Tony. 

  
  


“Ay! Watch your hand or I’ll break it,” Tony snaps. Clint gives him a very exaggerated sad face, lip turned out and eyes wide. 

  
  


“I’m sorry.”

  
  


The brunet huffs and rolls his eyes. “No, you _aren’t._” 

  
  


Clint's expression spits into a massive, pleased grin. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. 

  
  


“I’ll make you sorry, you bastard.” 

  
  


Steve shakes his head with a small, amused smile. “But, really. You mentioned something about a reward earlier. Do we get to ride the jet skies early?” he asks Carol, directing the two boys’ attention away from where they’re playfully glaring and back to the group. 

  
  


Jet skis? The last time Tony rode one was last summer, and he ended up falling off multiple times, getting salt water down his throat and up his nose in the process. Though, he supposes riding in a lake will probably be much easier than through the rough ocean waves. 

  
  


“No,” Carol says bluntly. “I think it just takes you off cabin cleaning duty tomorrow.” 

  
  


Right. Tony missed that the last couple times—and apparently will continue to. Every Sunday they’re supposed to clean the cabin and change the sheets on the beds to prevent bacteria and mold from growing and keep the campers from getting sick. It makes him wonder how many kids left old food or wet towels around to mold for weeks before this rule was a thing. 

  
  


“_Boo_,” Clint pouts. “I thought it’d be more fun. Like we can have extra deserts or skip out on classes for a day.” 

  
  


“Can we bargain?” Natasha offers. “We get a day off, but clean the cabins with everyone else and participate in the talent show, or something.” 

  
  


Tony's shocked laugh comes out in an incredulous bark. He slaps the stone below him. “No _fucking_ way am I doing a talent show. I’d rather clean up stiff socks in the cabins.” 

  
  


“But don’t you have an IQ of 150?” Carol grins over at him. He makes a confused expression, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly parted. 

  
  


“Huh?”

  
  


Natasha butts in, too, seemingly just for the fun of it. “You’re fluent in four different languages, correct?” 

  
  


“Can’t you play five instruments?” Steve cocks an eyebrow. When everyone glances over in surprise at his participation, the tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment. “I—I saw it on—It was on Twitter! You have, like, a lot of people who know a ton about you.” 

  
  


Tony supposes that—what Steve said— is true. He's been documented like a fucking science experiment since he was born. A baby that can speak almost full words at six month IS interesting. A four year old that can create a circuit board by himself is even more so. It’s not surprising that so many people have the inside scoop on his (not so) personal life.

  
  


He takes a breath to calm himself. “Why is any of this relevant? I don’t want to be in a talent show.”   
  


Tony says slowly. 

  
  


Clint throws an arm around him and pulls him in. “We’re just pointing out your skills. You could totally rock a talent show!” He explains. “Can you sing?” 

  
  


“I could use improvement.” 

  
  


“What languages?” Natasha’s turn to speak. 

  
  


He tries not to blush, or sound too cocky. “Italian, English, French, Japanese, and Russian.” (And maybe a few others hes still working on)

  
  


“Impressive,” Carol raises an eyebrow. “So what _is_ your IQ?” 

  
  


“None of your business,” Tony scoffs. 

  
  


  * |• 

  
  


Five minutes later, two more groups come out, disappointed when they see Tony’s group huddled around Carol and chatting happily. Steve took the liberty in grabbing the lunches for their group (once the others came out) so they could eat a few snacks before they continued the day. 

  
  


Their next stop was where they met with another group, on the shore near the castle. Peter wasn’t with them, which upset Tony a little, but he hung out with Clint and the others and swam a little. Stephen kept his distance, sticking to his friend Christine like a moth to a flame once she emerged from the house with a tired sigh. Tony was okay with that, and not surprised at the least. 

  
  


Nearly another long hour of tiring themselves out screwing around in the lake and scarfing down lunch, they made their way back to the camp. It had to have been five, at least—but Tony immediately ran for the showers to wash the nature off—so he never really got to check the clock. 

  
  


He takes his time, letting his conditioner sit, listening to the sounds of boys coming in and out for god knows how long. But, finally, once the noise dies, Tony shuts the shower off with an echo-ey creek and quickly dries and dresses himself in some running shorts he packed in his shower bag. The only sound in the spacious room is a singular shower still going and Tony’s feet slightly slapping against the tiles as he walks to the mirror. 

  
  


Tony puts his bag on the edge of the sink and watches his reflection stare back. Just for a moment. Then, almost is if he’s trying to not spook himself, he slowly digs into his bag, pulling out a wide tooth comb and a pair of hair-dressing scissors. Kudos to past him for predicting the future, really. 

  
  


He combs through the wet locks clinging to his neck and face, mentally measuring how much he should cut—and suddenly snips off a good chunk. It falls to the porcelain limply and he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock. Jesus. No going back now. Tony grins a little at himself and continues the process of combing and cutting for a few minutes. That is, until he gets to the back of his head. He can’t really see it, and he doesn’t want to mess it up, so he just kinda stands there. No fucking way is he giving himself a mullet, either, so leaving it is a no no. 

  
  


Trying to figure out what to do, he doesn’t really hear the creak of the last shower until the curtain squeaks open and a deep voice calls his name. 

  
  


“_Stark_?” 

  
  


Tony glances in the mirror to see Stephen standing there dressed in loose short sleeves, bag and towel in hand, and eyes wide with surprise. 

  
  


“What the _fuck_ are you _doing_?” Stephen asks, moving to stand beside him. 

  
  


The brunette (now with half of his hair shorter), gestures half-heartedly. “Cutting my hair, Strange, _obviously_,” he snarks. 

  
  


Stephen looks him over—the loose hair on his shoulders, the now drying locks of hair that curl just above his ears, and the mullet look he’s rocking—before scoffing. “Let me guess. You didn’t think of how you would cut the back?” 

  
  


Tony doesn’t pout, but it’s close. “No,” he lies. 

  
  


“Okay,” Stephen let’s out a long sigh, drops his stuff in the adjacent sink, and holds out his hand expectantly. “I’ll do it.” 

  
  


“You can cut curly hair?” Tony fully turns to look incredulously at him and his _just_ wavy black hair, lower back pressing against the sink so he can look up at the other boy. 

  
  


The only reason it would be considered wavy is because it dries in a slight curl from what Tony can tell, so he really doesn’t trust Stephen to not completely botch it. 

  
  


Stephen makes an ‘_ehh_’ sound and shakes his hand. “Kind of. I used to help give my little sister haircuts, so I watched a ton of hair cutting videos on YouTube for all types. She has, like, wavy hair,” he admits. “So, I haven't actually done it, but I think I could.” 

  
  


Tony makes an unsure sound. 

  
  


“I promise it won’t be horrible, and I won’t cut it all off, either.” 

  
  


“If you do ruin my hair, I get to ruin yours. _Okay_?” 

  
  


“Yeah, sure. Deal.” 

  
  


“Okay, here.” 

  
  


Tony turns the scissors so he’s holding the blades and plants them into Stephen’s open hand handle up. The two boys watch as Stephen’s hand curls around them to get a grip. 

  
  


“Turn that toosh around for me, will ya _suga’ _?” Stephen drawls with a thick southern accent to (what Tony thinks) is to lighten the mood and start some banter. 

  
  


It works, because Tony is laughing and turned around in a second. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. If you wanted a piece of this sweet cherry pie, you coulda jus’ asked, _Stud-muffin_,” he mimicks back, grinning at the taller boy and winking through the mirror. 

  
  


“Hmm. Pie isn’t really my thing, so I’ll have to pass on that one,” Stephen remarks. He gently tilts Tony’s head around to look at the style he’s been cutting before directing it down. “I’m a bigger fan of cake.” 

  
  


“I’ve got plenty of that, too,” Tony chirps, smirking to himself. When he takes a peek at the mirror, Stephen’s face is the picture of focused—but pink tinges his cheeks and colors his ears. A win for the genius!

  
  


Stephen makes an amused sound, and Tony feels the blunt side of the scissor blades lightly press against his neck as he cuts. Tony closes his eyes and listens to the snip of scissors and Stephen’s careful breathing for a few seconds. Even from the heat of the steam and outside, he can still feel warmth radiating at his back like a heat lamp. Tony assumed that Stephen was the type to be cold. He has cold hands, after all, the type most doctors and surgeons do. Not too cold, but far from warm. 

  
  


A few fingers wipe the hair at the back of his neck and Stephen takes the comb from the other boy's hand before continuing. 

  
  


“I have eidetic memory.” 

  
  


“What?” 

  
  


“I know you’re wondering how I remembered to cut hair from a YouTube video.” 

  
  


“Ah,” Tony resists the urge to nod, humming instead. “That’s fascinating.” 

  
  


He can hear a rustle that he assumes is a shrug before Stephen says, “I suppose so.” 

  
  


“So, what, you can recall everything you see?” Tony asks. “Every detail—every word spoken. Will you remember every individual hair you cut off my head?” 

  
  


“Yes, I will. Every squirm, too,” Stephen laughs from behind him. “But sometimes I don’t listen to what people are saying, so I won’t be able to decipher them at a later date.” 

  
  


“That’s still really cool. Sorry for twitching.”

  
  


“It’s okay.” 

  
  


Stephen brushes the hair off his neck again before grabbing Tony’s shoulder and flipping him around again so they’re facing each other. He combs his hair and gauges the different lengths carefully. 

  
  


“Can you…” Stephen stops and gestures to the sink. “like— hop up? You move far too much. I think it’ll help.” 

  
  


Tony grips the sink and jumps up. “Yeah, sorry.” 

  
  


“I already said it was okay. Stop apologizing.” 

  
  


Stephen rolls his eyes and moves to stand in between Tony’s spread legs. It’s almost awkward, how close they are, and Tony resists saying something or blushing like a schoolgirl. 

  
  


“So you don’t have eidetic memory?” Stephen asks after a few silent moments. “I thought you did, to be honest.” 

  
  


Tony nearly shakes his head. “Nah. I just have a really good memory. If I would have to guess, I would say it’s very close to eidetic.” 

  
  


“Now THATS fascinating. You’re so intelligent it’s scary,” Stephen smiles a little, gently turning the other boys head. “You did a pretty good job.” 

  
  


“Thank you,” Tony says, smiling back. “You’re not a genius?” 

  
  


“Technically, I am.” 

  
  


“Really?” 

  
  


“156.” 

  
  


“Nice. I was expecting lower. No offense.” 

  
  


“None taken,” Stephen moves back and let’s Tony down. “Okay, rinse off and I’m sure we’re done,” he follows Tony to the showers.

  
  


Tony grabs his towel and gives the other boy an amused look over his shoulder. Once he strips and turns the shower on, still not answering, he hears Stephen sigh loudly. 

  
  


“You aren’t going to tell me yours? Eye for an eye. IQ for IQ.” 

  
  


Washing the hair off his chest and back, the genius hums in thought. He hasn’t had an IQ test since he was six. The score has probably stabilized much more since then, so it could vary quite a few points. “I’m not sure,” Tony admits. “I haven’t gotten tested in about ten years.” 

  
  


“Make an assumption,” Stephen instructs. “I’m curious.” 

  
  


“Curiosity killed the cat, don’t you know?” 

  
  


“But satisfaction brought it back. Plus they have nine lives, so, checkmate.” 

  
  


Tony snorts out laughter and shuts the shower off to dry himself. Pants back on, he pats his head with his towel, walking out to laugh at Stephen. 

  
  


“Please,” Stephen clasps his hands together in a prayer. 

  
  


Tony laughs louder. “Why do you want to know?” 

  
  


“Curiosity.” 

  
  


“Somehow I doubt you have no ulterior motives, kitty.” 

  
  


Stephen groans. “You’re _so_ annoying.” 

  
  


“I know,” Tony shrugs in a response, grinning and peering at himself in the mirror. His hair looks much better, less of a rugged surfer and more like his normal style. Even though it longer went over his ears, it still has a nice length, long enough that he could only just put it in a little pony tail if he needed. “It looks good.” 

  
  


“I know,” Stephen mocks, hands on his hips. “In payment, you...can tell me your IQ.” 

  
  


Tony sighs and turns around. “It’s an estimate.” 

  
  


“_Okay_. I get that it’s an estimate and you don’t really know. _Now, tell me._”

  
  


“270. I think...”

  
  


“No way,” Stephen’s jaw drops. “You’re fucking lying.” 

  
  


“I’m not! This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” 

  
  


“No! Wait! I was kidding. I’m just...” Stephen shrugs awkwardly. “...impressed, is all.” 

  
  


“Thank you,” Tony gives him a mischievous smile. He doesn’t say ‘_I want you to be one_’ but it’s close. “Okay, let’s get back to the cabins before Carol comes looking.” 

  
  


“Y-yeah. Right.” 


	12. Guest Star pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a visitor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey omg I wrote like half of this but then forgot to finish it (and I mostly redid it) 
> 
> I am so happy that even a few people still like this story, otherwise, I probably would've abandoned it a million years ago. And finally! I finished this chapter! I have a rough day couple of days coming up but I'll try to get the next chapter started and finished within the next two (probably) weeks
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and kindness ILY <3

Nothing really happened for the rest of the day. When he and Stephen parted ways from the bathroom, Tony grabbed a long-sleeved shirt he stole from Pepper and met Peter in the library to hang out a bit and talk about a new plugin Tony wanted to work on and other coding things before dinnertime. When he finally showed his face in the dining room, Clint hopped over and sat right beside him with a mound full of waffle fries topped with grilled cheese and a Pepsi on his tray. He mentioned the haircut immediately, but Tony managed to evade the answer quite smoothly if he says so himself. 

  
  


(—“Tony! I've been looking everywhere for you. Where the hell did you disappear t—is your hair shorter?” 

  
  


Tony reached a hand up slowly, acting bewildered when he touched his hair. “Is it?” He whispered.

  
  


Clint rolled his eyes and laughed. “Seriously. How’d you get a barber out here? Is it a rich kid thing?” 

  
  


“Exactly. I snap my fingers and there goes my hair,” The genius waved his chicken speared fork around in a small circle and bit down on it. 

  
  


Clint shrugs. “Okay, so, I was looking for you earlier because I wanted to tell you we do in fact only get to skip cabin duty tomorrow afternoon—“) 

  
  


And that was it. He goes to bed and wakes up on Sunday to the beautiful sound of a sizable book slamming on the desk directly beside his head. He startles, obviously, and pulls his lightest blanket down from where it was covering his head. He got really hot during the night, and he shed his shirt, pants, and every blanket but one. 

  
  


“What the fuck, Stephen? I was sleeping. You’re such a jackass,” Tony hisses up at the already dressed (and wide awake) boy standing over him, too tired for this shit already. He checks the watch sitting on the nightstand. It reads 7:32–-yeah, way too early to be this annoying.

  
  


“Someone’s here for you,” Stephen hisses back, voice low and, strangely (no pun intended) enough, angry. “So, up. Before I have to interact with any more of your...friends.” 

  
  


Opening his mouth to snark back, his brain suddenly doubles back to repeat what Stephen actually said. “What do you mean by my friends?” He says dumbly. “Is one of them here?” 

  
  


The other boy rolls his eyes and picks up his book, protectively tucking it under his arm. “See for yourself.” 

  
  


Okay, _yeah_, that’s weird. Tony mentally adds the behavior to his list of _Things to Figure Out About Stephen Strange_ as he hops to his feet. “I will, actually. Thanks!” He chirps. Even though he’s an atheist, he finds himself praying that it’s true. 

  
  


He moves to the door, and Stephen’s voice calls out to him, sounding more amused than annoyed now. “Put on some clothes, you flasher.”

  
  


“It's not flashing if I have underwear on!” Tony flushes. Nonetheless, he walks back to his bed and picks out a quick outfit. “Don’t look, _perv_,” he quips and hopes it makes Stephen blush. 

  
  


It does. “Why would I—“ Stephen sputters, turning around immediately. He’s such a dork and Tony tries not to laugh as he quickly changes and puts on shoes. “I have better things to do than see you naked.” 

  
  


“Somehow, I doubt that,” He calls as he practically runs out the door before Stephen can retort. 

  
  


He should probably brush his teeth—but already he’s practically trembling with anticipation, holding his breath and frantically looking around in hopes to see someone from his life within an actual, real-life civilization, and he doesn’t have the energy nor the patience to run to the bathhouse. A few bated seconds later, his heart drops to his feet. 

  
  


Without hesitation, he turns and nudges the door open with his foot to yell to the ass inside. “Stephen, did you really just lie to me? That was a serious asshole move,” 

  
  


There are a few footsteps from inside the cabin before the door is aggressively and suddenly yanked open and an agitated Stephen emerges. “No, I didn’t. He was right there,” he nods to the grass. “He must’ve left, or something. And I don’t care enough to help you look.” 

  
  


It’s silent for a moment, the two boys staring at each other, Tony’s gaze analyzing, and Stephen’s challenging. 

  
  


Then Stephen's glare moves behind Tony and he nods again, his tone deadpan. “There he is. Quick before he runs away again.” 

  
  


“Who? Me?” 

  
  


Tony’s heart speeds up again. He grins and turns on his heel to see his best friend in the entire world standing there, with the fakest look of confusion Tony’s ever seen on his face. 

  
  


“You son of a bitch!” Tony exclaims, leaping off the deck like an action movie and jumping into the arms of his friend. 

  
  


Rhodey laughs like a melody and catches him easily, spinning him around to play into the little bit. He’s impressively strong from training for the Air Force. “Hey, Tones. I missed you.” 

  
  


The genius tucks his face into Rhodey’s neck and sighs happily. He missed his own personal teddy bear. They don’t move for a second before Tony hits him on the chest and laughs. “Oh my god. How the hell did you even get here, honey bear? I thought you were still in the Bahamas?” He gasps. “Did you _lie_ to me?” 

  
  


The young man hums and carefully but suddenly drops Tony back to the ground. “Actually, I’m still there. You’re currently talking to my newest android.” 

  
  


“Oh, really? That’s _awesome_. You nailed everything but this look of utter exasperation he always has when I’m around.” 

  
  


Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

  
  


“There it is!” 

  
  


They both laugh for a few moments until Rhodey shakes his head, smiling. “I actually drove up here,” he states proudly. 

  
  


Tony smiles back, eyebrow raised. “Alone? From Philly?” 

  
  


“The airport. It was very demanding.” 

  
  


Right. That makes much more sense. Rhodey couldn’t drive alone in a car for more than four hours without getting bored as hell. Tony is the same way. In the moment of silence, someone clears their throat and seizes the chance behind them. Surprised, the brunette tilts his head back to see Stephen still standing there, leaning against the post of the deck of the cabin and watching them awkwardly. Tony thought he’d left. 

  
  


“Sorry, it was rude of me to not introduce myself when I asked for your favor. I’m James Rhodes, also known as Rhodey. You can call me whatever,” Rhodey says, ever the charmer, and turning his friend around so they’re both facing Stephen. Rhodey sends one of his best grins over at the boy standing on the deck—the one that wins over parents and protective friends all around the world—and wraps his arm around Tony’s shoulders in a half-headlock. “Thank you so much for getting him for me. I owe you one.” 

  
  


Stephen tilts his head, posture suddenly defensive. Does he not like Rhodey? “I was going inside anyway...” his sharp eyes flit between them before landing on the ground and he trails off. 

  
  


His best friend doesn’t take the weird behavior personally and glances down at Tony, gaze questioning. Tony takes the liberty of continuing for Stephen, smirking. “This is Stephen Strange. We sleep together!” 

  
  


Stephen immediately snaps back to reality and glares darkly at Tony. “_No_, we don’t, weirdo. Our beds are beside one another. Someone as smart as you should have far better diction.” 

  
  


_“_You called me smart!” Tony says, grinning. He’s actually unusually pleased to be told something he’s heard since he popped out of the womb, so he pretends to swoon to downplay his glee. 

  
  


“What a gentleman!” Rhodey gives Tony a few seconds before pushing him back up to stand on his own. 

  
  


The future neurosurgeon (Tony assumes by the mound of medical books on neurology between their beds) leisurely stalks down the stairs like a stray cat warming up to humans, stopping a few feet away. 

  
  


“Because you _are_ smart, idiot.” 

  
  


Tony holds his face in his hands and gasps. “Oh my god. You’re so sweet to me. I think I...I think I _love_ you!” 

  
  


“You’re so absurd. I take it back,” It’s funny—the way Stephen blushes and glances up like an Angel will come down and save him from this discomfort. 

  
  


“Nonono there’s no takebacks! You totally—“ Tony’s looks at Rhodey. “He totally loves me back.” 

  
  


“The only thing I love about you is when you finally leave me alone—or shut up for once.” 

  
  


Like the smartass he is, Tony pointedly shuts his mouth and smiles up at Stephen, who rolls his eyes, still tense for some odd reason.

  
  


“I’m going to breakfast. Don’t follow me.” 

  
  


“Bye, sweetie!! Love you!!”

  
  


“It was nice to meet you, Stephen.” 

  
  


“You too, James. Tony…you not so much.” 

  
  


“Hey!” 

  
  


His protests go ignored. Once he is a fair distance away, Rhodey wiggles his fingers at Tony, grinning. “He’s your ‘friend’?” He uses finger quotes. 

  
  


Tony scoffs. “He would never go for someone like me—I don’t even know if he likes boys! What if he’s a raging Westboro-Baptist-church level homophobe?” he says, pouting a little, even if he really doubts Stephen is homophobic. Rhodey’s eyebrows raise in disbelief like he knows something Tony doesn’t (he probably does). “Anyway. He’s not yet my friend, but I’m slowly but surely winning him over with my charms. It doesn’t really matter,” The genius shrugs a little and throws his hands up to distract himself (and Rhodey.) “Enough of this. Let’s go eat! I’m hungry. We have a lot to talk about. How was the ride up?” 

  
  


Rhodey takes the change in topic in stride, smirking whilst he follows his shorter companion. 

  
  


“Oh! It was, honestly, the best drive of my life. I listened to a _ton_ of 6ix9ine.” 

  
  


“_Gross_.”

  
  


“Hey, don’t diss my taste or we’re going to have some serious problems.” 

  
  


“You don’t even like him! He’s disgusting! You just want to make me mad.” 

  
  


“Or maybe I’ve expanded my musical horizons during my time away from you.” 

  
  


“Yeah, _sure_. And the moon is green.” 

  
  


They argue for a little longer until they get to the cafeteria. There are a selected few foreign faces scattered amongst the crowd—probably the counselors’ visitors—but the majority that is visiting will probably show up later on in the day. Honestly, until about ten minutes ago, he forgot that Sundays were visiting days. Maybe it’s because he expected no one to show. Rhodey always ceases to amaze him. 

  
  


“Pepper wanted to come visit with me,” Rhodey states as they sit, reading his mind and promptly changing the subject from where it strayed to satellite dishes. 

  
  


Examining the small servings of a really impressive array of healthy food Rhodey magically snuck onto Tony’s plate when he wasn’t looking—Tony frowns. “Really? Why couldn’t she come?” He asks as he mentally measures the ratio. (3:1 of what Rhodey put and Tony picked on his own--if it matters.)

  
  


“She’s still on vacation. Apparently her aunt—the one that’s almost half as loaded as you— ‘needs the company’ to get through the summer and offered to pay for the rest of her family's trip expenses until Pep and her brother have to go back to college.”

  
  


“That _bitch!_ So, she’s staying the summer, I gather?” 

  
  


Rhodey laughs, the sound carefree deep in his chest, and Tony is suddenly hit with the feeling of nostalgia and remembers why he missed his best friend so much. “Yep, I knew you would get it.” 

  
  


Tony shakes his head in real disappointment and pops a handful of mixed nuts in his mouth. “That’s so lame. Good for her, though, really. I hope she brings us souvenirs. When did she break the news to you? Wait...why didn’t I know about this shit?” He suddenly feels a spike of betrayal, but he knows Rhodey will explain it so he tries to chew his almonds peacefully. 

  
  


“Ah, she didn’t want to spiral you into sadness before I showed up, so she only told me last night when I was packing and I promised to pass on the message. She loves you, by the way. And she knows you took her shirt.” 

  
  


“She gave that to me!” 

  
  


_ No, she didn’t.  _

  
  


Rhodey just laughs in his face, not bothering to agree or disagree, and Tony pouts. “Okay, I stole it. Since I’m confessing my deepest secrets, I might as well let you know I have some of your clothes, too,” he mutters. 

  
  


“I knew it! You’re a _thief_, Tony Stark,” 

  
  


“And yer a wizard, Rhodey.” 

  
  


“I am?” The pair crinkle their nose in disgust simultaneously and burst into laughter. “JK Rowling is such a rotten husk of what could have been a decent person that I feel nauseous even quoting her book.” 

  
  


“Fair,” Tony agrees. He slides water over to his friend. “Wash it down.” 

  
  


Rhodey grins at him and takes a long swig of the water. Tony admires the sculpture of his arms and neck as he does, smiling back. Hey, he can ogle his friend without it being romantic. Rhodey doesn’t mind—and Tony even asked! 

  
  


“Did you get even more ripped the last time I saw you? What type of steroids are you on?” Tony gasps. “Are you injecting _horse semen?_ I heard that actually works—“ 

  
  


The cadet chokes on his water, smiling wildly even as the liquid spills all over his face and shirt and he starts to cough. “Tony, what the f—“

  
  


Tony slaps him on the back. “It’s okay! Get it out buddy! You got this!” 

  
  


“You’re _crazy_,” Rhodey wipes his mouth, coughing again. 

  
  


Grinning, he suggestively wiggles his eyebrows and picks up his fork so he can actually eat something. “You love it. Why else would you drive 300 miles to see me?” 

  
  


“The only reasonable explanation is that your cuckoo-ness is rubbing off on me.” 

  
  


“_Oh, I hope so_.” 

  
  


~~~ 

  
  


As the other campers cleaned the cabins after breakfast, Tony took the liberty of parading Rhodey around, making crude commentary as he pretended to be an awful tour guide. His friend smirked through it, adding things to make them both laugh. The tour ended on the shore of the lake, the pair both spread out on wooden lounging chairs, heads tipped to the sky in mirrored positions. 

  
  


When a sandy sneaker suddenly nudges his own, Tony halfheartedly hums in acknowledgment so he isn’t required to verbally respond, and Rhodey continues what he was going to say. “What’s the deal with that Strange kid? I could tell he was upset, but only after you came outside and practically tackled me.” 

  
  


Tony tilts his head, staring at an especially fluffy cloud. It resembles a pig, he muses. “Hm? What do you mean?” He knows what Rhodey means. Stephen was pissed for no reason. He’s planning on asking him when Rhodey leaves to make the whole confrontation less awkward (and hopefully he’ll have relaxed a bit). 

  
  


“I think he has a—“

  
  


“Tony! Who’s your friend?” 

  
  


“—you.” 

  
  


_What?_

Tony sits up fully to glare over at Clint and Natasha, eyes dark and lips pulled into a scowl. Natasha’s smile is significantly more pleased than Clint’s, likely because Clint interrupted whatever important thing Rhodey was trying to say. Damn. He’ll have to ask again later. 

  
  


“Hi, I’m James Rhodes,” Rhodey smiles, eyes curious and analyzing. He always notices more things than Tony does, likely because of how neutral he tends to stay. “Tony’s best friend.” 

  
  


“Número Uno,” Tony grins. He puts his feet back on the sand on either side of the chair and rests his hands in the space between his legs. Rhodey takes liberty in turning sideways to face the trio of people. 

  
  


“I’m Natasha.” 

  
  


Clint looks Rhodey up and down, eyebrow raised. “Ignoring the fact that you just implied I’m not your best friend—I thought your supposed ‘best friend’ was named Rhodey?” He asks Tony. 

  
  


That causes the two college students to glance at each other and crack up. 

  
  


“What?” 

  
  


“That _is_ Rhodey, idiot,” Natasha rolls her eyes. 

  
  


“His name is James _Rhodes_. It’s a _nickname_,” Tony says slowly and with an exaggerated amount of emphasis. Smirking, he flickers his eyes to Nat and Rhodey. “Blonde moment.” 

  
  


Natasha smirks back. “Every moment he has is a blonde moment,” she ignores Clint’s indignant squawking in the background. “Where are you from, James?” 

  
  


“Philadelphia, you?” 

  
  


“Here and there,” The redhead waves her hand. 

  
  


Clint sits on the sand in front of the two chairs. Natasha doesn’t join him. “We’re both military brats. That’s how we first met. Then, like, we lost touch, but then we met again here.” 

  
  


“You two are meant to be,” Tony laughs, glancing over at Rhodey. His friend raises an eyebrow, and Tony makes a face that hopefully conveys ‘_they’re in love with each other_’ back. Based on the laughter in Rhodey’s eyes, he’s successful. 

  
  


The tips of Clint’s ears turn pink, but he laughs. “Yeah, we are,” A curious look is sent his way by the resident ginger, so he stands and vaguely gestures. “We’re gonna go harass Steve and Carol...I think they’re around here somewhere. See you later! It was nice to meet you, Rhodey.” 

  
  


“Nice to meet you,” Natasha nods and follows Clint away. 

  
  


“You two as well!” Rhodey calls. “They’re an odd couple,” he says, quieter. 

  
  


“They’re not a couple. Not yet, at least,” Tony says. 

  
  


“Hm. Really?” 

  
  


“Yeah.” 

  
  


“Weird.” 

  
  


The shorter of the two shrugs and lays back again. His friend copies him. “For real.” 


	13. Rhodey rhetorically smacks Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! It's nice to be here. Rhodey is a saint, as you will see. 
> 
> Should I do the next chapter in Stephen's POV?? Idk. Maybe. 
> 
> Anyway--Love you all and I really love how you guys like my story <3 :)
> 
> (Don't mind any grammar mistakes lololol)

After lunch, the visitors began to roll in. Carol met Rhodey, and they hit it off, and she mentioned in passing that Rhodey would have to leave before lights out (obviously). That still left time for Tony to enact his plans, so he introduced his best friend to Bruce and Peter and Steve when they ran into him. 

  
  


Everyone seems to enjoy Rhodey, and Steve even mused that Rhodey should attend camp. His friend laughed but firmly shut that idea down. Tony understands why, too, so he isn’t upset. He wants to spend some quality time with his sister and parents before he deploys in a few years. He could die out there, and both of the boys are painfully aware of that. So, Tony doesn’t push and changes the subject before Steve can ask why by making a few jokes. No need to bring down the mood! 

  
  


They don’t run into Stephen until after lunch when they’re bouncing ideas off one another in the general reading area of the library. No one else is there, so they don’t mind talking, but they keep their voices low anyway. 

  
  


“Hey, Stephen,” Rhodey greets, giving a little wave as he half-glances up. Most of his focus is on the book in his lap. 

  
  


That makes Tony look up to see Stephen standing there, a single book cradled against his chest. He can’t help but beam at the adorable awkwardness radiating off his soon-to-be-friend. “Stephen!! What are you doing here? Come sit,” he says with a firm pat on the couch cushion beside him. 

  
  


Stephen, predictably, takes one of the chairs across the table. doesn’t try to hide his stares at the papers filled with words and doodles and a stack of books spread about the table. “I’m just here to pick up another book. And you’re...engineering a plane?” 

  
  


“No no no that was just warm-up. That project was done months ago,” Tony shakes his head with a smile and flips a few pages in his notebook. As he lifts the page he thinks maybe he shouldn’t do this—but Rhodey is subtly listening and he hasn’t interfered—so he tilts it upside down so Stephen can read it. “We’re looking into designing an AI. Uh, Artificial Intelligence. It’s just an idea, right now, but we can still totally add this into another robot, or something. DUM-E needs a friend.” 

  
  


“I know what an AI is, Tony,” Stephen scoffs and takes the notebook. Their fingers brush a little too much to be an accident. Neither mentions it. “DUM-E?” 

  
  


“That’s the first-ever robot I made—like two years ago when I first went to MIT. He’s a helper bot!” 

  
  


“Not very helpful,” Rhodey pipes up. 

  
  


Tony glares over at him but then grins. “Mean. But true. He’s a _little_ flawed, but he’s my son, and we won a few awards together.” 

  
  


“He poisoned my coffee with dish soap. How did he even get dish soap in the lab?!” 

  
  


“I was doing an experiment with bubbles! I told you this! He just wanted you to be included.” 

  
  


“By contaminating my morning drink?! He was totally pranking me!”

  
  


“So, what? You hate me now?” 

  
  


“What—no!! Why would I hate _you??_ You didn’t try to kill me, your son did!” 

  
  


Stephen tilts his head, silently observing the two have the same exact argument they’ve been through fifty times already. “That’s impressive, flaws aside,” he interrupts. “It sounds like your..._son_...has a personality of his own.” 

  
  


Tony drops his hand from where it’s clutched across his chest and gently takes his outheld notebook back. None of the pages are creased, or anything, even though Stephen flipped a couple. “He does!” He states proudly. “I’d love for you to meet him one day. I think you’d get along.” 

  
  


“I live in Nebraska when I’m not here. I don’t think that’s likely.” 

  
  


“Nebraska? That’s the middle of nowhere,” Tony muses out loud, mostly to himself, and continues. “But aren’t you going to college in Massachusetts in a few months? We can still visit each other in the fall.” 

  
  


Stephen gives him a startled look, but he’s there’s a restrained, yet pleased smile on his lips. “How did you know that?” 

  
  


Tony blinks, and he feels his face heat up against his very strong will. “I heard you talking about it with Christine. And I’m not a stalker! You guys were _literally_ sitting on the bed next to me.” 

  
  


“I thought you were asleep.” 

  
  


“Well, you thought wrong, Mr. Doctor.” 

  
  


“So, what, you just want me to see your robot? Can’t you pull up a video?” 

  
  


Tony shrugs. “I can, but it’s not the same. And, yeah, I think it’d be nice to hang out once in a while. Where are you going to school?” 

  
  


“Harvard.” 

  
  


"Ooh smarty pants," Tony leans forward and grins. “That’s, what, four minutes away? You could live with us for god sake!! Wait...I don’t think freshmen can live off-campus. Nevermind.”

  
  


“I’d be a sophomore. I’ve already taken a year in the University of Nebraska,” Stephen’s body language looks somewhat uncomfortable, but his blue-green eyes are bright, and he’s smiling a little. 

  
  


“Nevermind that nevermind!!” 

  
  


Finally, to deescalate the situation and prevent Tony from literally getting Stephen to move in with them, Rhodey lifts his nose from his book. He puts it aside and packs up some of the papers just to neaten the table. “Tony, leave the kid alone. If he’s not totally done with us, he can visit—_or_ move in—if he wants. Just exchange numbers before you leave, and we can discuss all this later.” 

  
  


Remembering himself, Stephen sits back and nods once. “Yes. Exactly. I have to, uh, consult my parents to see if we could afford rent, anyway.” 

  
  


“Oh, I already own where we’re living! It was one of my mom's old office buildings and we transformed it into an apartment slash house a few years back. It has four rooms. Rhodey, Pepper, and I lived there last year. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything but, like, your share of food and toiletries.” 

  
  


“Tony,” Rhodey says softly, reminding him to relax and not get ahead of himself. He pats his friend's knee. “You mentioned how you wanted to...conspire? I think that’s the word you used.” 

  
  


Tony lights up. “Yes, right! Now that you’re here, you might as well help,” he stands and gathers all the papers and books he can carry. 

  
  


“Okay, I suppose. If I—if I have to.” 

  
  


“You do!” 

  
  


Rhodey takes the rest of the mess, and Stephen grips his rental book with one pale hand, instead of holding it against his chest as he did earlier—almost as if he was going to get attacked by either one (or both) of the best friends. 

  
  


Eyes meet his and Tony realizes he’s staring, so he turns and leads the way. “Follow me, my darlings.” 

  
  


_“Darlings?”_ Stephen repeats in shock, his voice quiet, and Rhodey lets out a genuine chuckle. He doesn’t bother whispering back. 

  
  


“You get used to it.” 

  
  


Tony takes a few turns, mostly just to mess with the boys behind him, but doesn’t waste time to get to the secluded corner he found what feels like a million years ago. Once he places the items in his hands down, he addresses the pair formerly. 

  
  


“It’s time.” 

  
  


~~~~ 

  
  
  


“Rhodey…” Tony basically sobs, gripping his friend's jacket tight. “Don’t leave.” 

  
  
  


A warm hand smooths across his back, rubbing aimless shapes. “I have to, Tones.” 

  
  


“But I don’t want you to,” Embarrassingly enough, Tony can feel fat, juicy tears well up in his eyes. He blinks them back as quickly as he can. He feels like a child. 

  
  


“I know. I don’t want to go, either, but you have friends here. They like you, and you like them, as much as you pretend not to—-and maybe some more than others—but Stephen and lot will take care of you.” 

  
  


“How do you know that? He hates me.” 

  
  


"I'm about to blow your mind," Rhodey pulls back and looks at him, smirking, already knowing who he’s talking about. “He acts like he hates you. The poor boy looks at you with big ol’ cartoon heart eyes when you look away, you oblivious dork.” 

  
  


_What?_ Tony sniffs and wipes his eyes. “What?” He repeats his thoughts in shock. 

  
  


With a laugh, his best friend shakes his head and ruffles his hair. “Tony, he literally cut your hair for you. You _let_ him. He ran to you _and_ walked you to the nurse when you got in a fistfight. You two were flirting all day today—pulling each other's pigtails like it’s elementary again.” 

  
  


“Okay, okay, okay!” Tony exclaims to make Rhodey stop and pushes away, heart pounding in his ears like a battle drum. His face feels hot. “I get it.” 

  
  


Rhodey tilts his head, peering at the shorter boy. “Alright. I’ll stop,” he says. They’re silent for a few moments, until Tony pipes up, arms crossed. 

  
  


“I don’t believe you.” 

  
  


“Oh my god.” 

  
  


“I really don’t! Why would he like me? No one _likes_ me.” 

  
  


“I like you. I would totally date you if we weren’t so brotherly. Pepper would, too,” Rhodey pauses, just to think. “Sunset Bain would love to get in your pants. She’s nice and I'd say she’s pretty nice if she wasn’t so pretentious. Justin Hammer likes you, too, but he’s a total ass so I wouldn’t recommend it. That girl Maya, that one time…” 

  
  


He trails off and looks at Tony pointedly. “Must I go on? You’re a wonderful person, Tony, with a heart of gold and a brain so smart that it scares even me, sometimes.” 

  
  


Tony covers his face with his hands and groans, embarrassed. 

  
  


Why are feelings so tough? He gets people, and behavior, but the whole mushy gushy sensitive spots that come with interacting with them are the worst. Tony didn’t have many, before Rhodey, so he’s not even used to the bruises that come with ‘normal’ friendship. 

  
  


Sunset and Justin were there when he was younger, obviously, because they grew up together. They never really had ‘normal’ relationships with one another, even if they used to spend a ton of time together, plus Ty Stone. They were all too rich and dealt with far too many expectations to be ‘normal’ kids. And then, Justin turned into a douche, and Sunset got caught up in fame and stress and now she’s in a special rehab for rich kids. Maybe in the future, they can try to be ‘normal’ friends again, but for now, they’re distant. (Tony honestly never really paid attention to their attraction to him, and since he’s admitting it, he thought it was a little amusing when he did notice) 

  
  


Rhodey gives him another short hug. “Now, I have to go, for real. I can see Carol waving to me. Or you. I can’t tell, honestly,” he raises his hand and waves back, smiling. 

  
  


Tony glances over his shoulder, and yes, Carol is standing under one of the lamps and waving. He copies his friend but only for a second. “She’s sweet.” 

  
  


“She is,” Rhodey nods. They part, and he begins to shed his jacket. “You’re cold. I can feel you shivering.” 

  
  


“I’m not—“ Tony hesitates when he notices he is indeed cold. Summer nights here are a fickle thing, and the past few nights have been around fifty degrees Fahrenheit (not that it stops him from getting hot when he sleeps, due to the three blankets he has). He pursues a different approach. “I can’t just take your jacket. It’s your favorite.” 

  
  


“Second favorite, actually. My dad got me a new flight jacket, so you can have this one. Until I steal it back in September, obviously.” 

  
  


Tony wraps the dark green fabric around him and zips it. “Over my dead body.” 

  
  


“Measures I am willing to take.” 

  
  


“What?! Psycho! You would kill me over a jacket?” 

  
  


“It’s also revenge for that time you hid one of every pair of my shoes. That was super annoying. I had to mix N match to not be late for work.” 

  
  


“That was super funny,” Tony grins at him. “Okay. I know you have to go. I love you, Platypus.” 

  
  


“I love you too, Raccoon. I’ll text you when I stop for my bathroom breaks.” 

  
  


Tony checks the pocket of the jacket for anything Rhodey might need, but only feels a paperclip and a penny. Weird. He watches and waves back Rhodey gets into his car and drives off, waving as he goes. 

  
  


“Wow.” 

  
  


Tony screeches like a bitch. _“Carol! What the hell?!” _

  
  


“Sorry, you guys are just cute together. I didn’t want to interrupt your goodbye,” Carol is smiling at him. The friendly slap on the back she gives him enough to make him stumble. “Anyway, let me walk you back.” 

  
  


“...Okay…” 

  
  


When they get back five minutes later to a full room of kids getting ready for bed, Stephen, of course, notices that Tony is wearing Rhodey's jacket and puts down his book. 

  
  


“Love the new jacket. It brings out your eyes, or whatever it is that they say.” 

  
  


“Jokes on you, it actually does bring out my eyes. Color theory, baby,” Tony slips off his shoes and—thank god he already changed into his pajamas—falls into his bed. “You should wear pink or dark blue. It would look good on you. Well...maybe not pink. You're a little pale. I'd have to see for myself."

  
  


“Uh-huh. So, Rhodey gave that to you?” 

  
  


“Uh-huh,” Tony parrots, rolling on his side and cushioning his face in his arms he can watch Stephen comfortably. “Parting gift.” 

  
  


Stephen hums in understanding, eyes skittering across the pages in the book on his lap. “That’s nice of him. It’s not like you can afford to buy your own or anything.” 

  
  


“It’s different when someone you care about gives you something,” Tony explains half-heartedly. Stephen turns a page. Abruptly, the best idea ever pops into his head. He yanks his drawer open and pulls out a pair of extra sunglasses he accidentally packed. 

  
  


They’re nice, Ray-Bans, and Tony bought them himself. They were the first thing he got, a few years ago, when he began to rake in his own money from robotics and engineering. They weren’t too much for him to splurge on back then, and they definitely aren’t now. 

  
  


Stephen warily stares at him, even as the sunglasses are thrust into his face. “Why are you showing me these? Good for you?” 

  
  


“No! I’m giving them to you. As a gift. So you can read. Outside. I know how difficult it is, because of how the sun reflects on white surfaces, and I saw you studying on the beach, like, two days ago,” he actually stands up, and to his surprise, Stephen allows Tony to put the glasses on him. “They’re of more use to you than they are to me.” 

  
  


“I can’t.” 

  
  


“But you can.” 

  
  


Stephen moves his legs and Tony sits, watching him take off the glasses and the five stages of grief flash across his face. “Tony—“ 

  
  


“They were only two hundred, don’t worry, that’s not going to bankrupt me. I still want to give them to you, nerd.” 

  
  


“Why?” 

  
  


He shrugs and says “I like you. You’re nice,” and after a second, a cheeky smile plays on his lips and he adds, “and now you know what it’s like to get a gift from someone you care about.” 

  
  


“How do you know I care about you?” Stephen smirks back, rotating the sunglasses around in his hand. The room is quieting around them as each boy settles down. 

  
  


“Everyone cares about me. I’m amazing,” They share another smile. Tony moves back to his own bed and waves his hand. “‘kay, goodnight. I’ll talk to you in, like, a few hours.” 

  
  


Stephen’s reply is soft. “Goodnight, Tony.” 


End file.
